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THREE 

/ r 


EXPERIMEIVTS  OF  LIVING: 


LIVING  WITHIN  THE  MEANS 
LIVING  UP  TO  THE  MEANS. 
LIVING  BEYOND  THE  MEANS 


‘ Tracts  are  written  for  the  poor ; but  we  would  ask,  if  influence 
and  example  do  not  proceed  from  the  rich  ? ’ 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  WILLIAM  S.^AMRELL, 

39  Washington  Street, 

AND  SAMUEL  COL MAN, 

121  Washington  Street. 

1837. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1837, 
By  William  S.  Damrell, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


William  S.  Damrell,  Printer, 
39  Washington  Street. 


IJO 


* 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Preface, v 

PART  I. 

Living  within  the  Means, 13 

PART  II. 

Living  up  to  the  Means 49 

PART  III. 

Living  betond  the  Means, 87 


PREFACE. 


The  present  little  volume,  though 
unpretending  in  its  form,  is  the  result 
of  no  inconsiderable  experience  and 
reflection.  The  manuscript  was  sub- 
mitted to  the  editor,  bj  the  talented 
author,  with  a modest  wish  of  making 
some  slight  contribution  to  the  great 
cause  of  good  morals,  virtuous  habits, 
and  domestic  and  social  comfort.  The 
editor  received  it  as  one  of  the  produc- 
tions of  the  day,  unsupported  by  any 
recommendations  of  great  names,  or 
other  artificial  means,  which  are  the 
resource  of  empty  writers,  who  only 
wish  to  attract  the  gaze  of  the  public. 
But,  upon  beginning  to  read  the  work, 
his  attention  became  so  engaged  with 


1* 


VI 


PREFACE. 


the  progress  of  the  narrative,  its  sim- 
plicity, clearness,  and  natural  develop- 
ment of  the  occurrences, — all  which 
adapted  it,  in  a peculiar  manner,  to 
those  readers  for  whose  benefit  it  is 
particularly  intended, — that  he  had 
gone  entirely  through  the  volume,  be- 
fore he  was  aw’are  of  it. 

Numerous  valuable  tracts  have  been 
written  within  a few  years  past,  upon 
single  and  detached  sulf|ects  of  morals, 
connected  with  the  condition  of  socie- 
ty ; and  among  these,  the  admirable 
‘ Temperance  Tales,’  by  an  able  and 
interesting  writer  in  this  city,  stand 
preeminent.  It  is  not  using  too  strong 
language,  to  say,  that  those  Tales, 
unimportant  as  they  may  be  consid- 
ered by  the  mass  of  readers,  who 
never  trouble  themselves  with  the  la- 
bor of  thinking,  are,  probably,  now 
effecting  a revolution  in  opinions,  which 
have  been  proof  against  the  heavy  ar- 
tillery of  many  a royal  quarto  and  im- 
perial octavo. 

The  author  of  the  present  publica- 


PREFACE. 


VU 


tion, — a practical  and  exact  observer 
of  the  lax  doctrines  still  current  with 
the  unreflecting  portion  of  the  commu- 
nity, on  the  vital  subject  of  the  moral 
condition  of  those  with  whom  we  are 
obliged  to  live  in  a social  state, — enter- 
tained a strong  conviction,  that  a work, 
which  should  not  be  restricted  to  the 
development  of  any  single  topic  of 
morals  exclusively,  but  should  com- 
prise, within  a moderate  extent,  a gen- 
eral view  of  those  social  duties  and 
maxims  of  domestic  economy,  that  are 
essential  to  our  happiness  and  comfort 
in  this  life,  would,  if  properly  executed, 
be  useful  at  this  time. 

It  had  not  escaped  the  notice  of  so 
intelligent  an  observer,  that  there  is,  in 
many  persons, — whose  showy  but  super- 
ficial attainments  give  them  more  influ- 
ence than  they  are  justly  entitled  to, — a 
constant  disposition  to  make  a perverse 
application,  in  morals,  of  certain  prin- 
ciples, which  were  intended  for  physi- 
cal subjects  alone.  They  repeat,  like 
parrots,  the.  maxim  of  the  political 


VUl 


PREFACE . 


economists, — ‘ Laissez-nous  faire — let 
us  alone,’ — morals  will  take  care  of 
themselves  ; just  as  they  tell  us,  to  let 
alone  the  prices  and  qualities  of  the 
physical  subjects  of  trade,  and  they 
will  take  care  of  themselves. 

It  is,  however,  an  unquestionable, 
though  in  some  respects  a mortifying 
truth,  that,  to  keep  the  community 
in  a sound  and  healthy  moral  state, 
demands  the  unremitting  energies  of 
all  the  talent  and  perseverance  of  those 
individuals  who  have  the  ability  to 
enlighten  and  instruct  their  fellow- 
men,  and  keep  the  vicious  under  that 
wholesome  awe,  which  is  essential  to 
the  security  of  the  virtuous  and  well- 
disposed.  Whenever  the  efforts  of 
these  individuals  are  intermitted, — 
whenever  they  cease  to  hold  up  to 
merited  execration,  the  violators  of  our 
social  duties, — the  corrupt  portion  of  the 
community  make  a greater  or  less  ad- 
vance in  their  unholy  career.  No  re- 
laxation, in  such  a cause,  can  be  al- 
lowed with  safety.  ‘ We  must,’  as 


PREFACE. 


K 


Burke  says,  on  another  occasion,  ‘keep 
up  the  top  with  continual  agitation  and 
lashing ; the  moment  it  ceases  to  spin, 
it  is  a dead  hit  of  box.’ 

Under  a deep  conviction  of  the  duty 
incumbent  upon  every  individual,  to 
render  such  aid  as  may  be  in  his  power, 
in  promoting  the  moral  improvement 
of  society,  the  author  of  the  present 
work  offers  it  to  the  pub  ic.  . It  com- 
prises, as  the  reader  will  see,  in  the 
form  of  an  interesting  narrative,  a prac- 
tical display  of  important  maxims  in 
domestic  economy  and  the  conduct  of 
life, — the  advantages  of  living  within 
one’s  means,  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on 
the  other,  the  misery  and  wretchedness 
attendant  upon  an  opposite  course  ; not 
merely  as  regards  the  physical  comforts 
of  the  unhappy  individual,  who  is  the 
subject  of  it,  but  his  moral  condition  ; 
for  it  is  an  undeniable  truth,  that  the 
extravagance  of  living  beyond  one’s 
means,  so  forcibly  depicted  in  this 
work, — and  which  leads  the  unhappy 
man,  when  oppressed  with  debts  and 


X 


PREFACE. 


beset  bj  duns,  to  prevaricate,  evade 
and  deceive  those  who  have  just  claims 
upon  him, — has  a most  corrupting  influ- 
ence upon  his  moral  sense;  W'hile  it 
degrades  the  man  in  his  own  estima- 
tion, lessens  his  self-respect,  destroys 
his  independence,  and  even  prepares 
the  way  for  crimes,  at  which  he  would 
once  have  shuddered.  The  want  of  a 
competent  property,  it  is  justly  said,  is 
no  crime  ; and  certain  it  is,  that  wealth 
alone  cannot  ensure  a virtuous  and 
honorable  life  ; but  we  daily  see  abun- 
dant reason  for  believing,  that,  as  a 
practical  rule  of  conduct,  we  cannot  do 
better  than  to  follow  the  emphatic 
advice  of  the  Stern  and  uncompromis- 
ing Junius : ‘ Let  all  your  views  in 
life  be  directed  to  a solid,  however 
moderate,  independence ; without  it, 
no  man  can  be  happy,  nor  even  honest.’’ 

The  Editor. 


Boston,  Dec.  24,  1836. 


THREE 


EXPERIMENTS  OF  LIVING. 


PART  I. 

LIVING  WITHIN  THE  MEANS. 


'1 


• 


LIVING 


WITHIN  THE  MEANS. 


‘ And  so,  F rank,  you  are  really  going  to  be 
married  ? ’ asked  uncle  Joshua. 

‘ I really  am,  sir,’  replied  Frank. 

‘ And  live  on  broth  ? ’ 

‘ Yes,  sir,  and,  if  I cannot  afford  that,  on 
water-gruel.’ 

‘ And  pray,  have  you  persuaded  Jane  to 
starve  with  you  ? ’ 

‘ I have  persuaded  her,  sir,  that  we  can  be 
happy  on  the  bare  necessaries  of  life ; and 
those  my  industry  will  always  procure  us.’ 

‘ How  do  you  know,  that  you  will  always 
have  health  to  labor  in  your  profession  ? ’ 

2 


14 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘ I certainly  do  not ; it  would  be  presump- 
tion in  me,  to  speak  securely  on  that  subject.’ 

‘ Yet  you  are  going  to  act  as  if  this  were  a 
certainty.’ 

‘ And  is  it  wrong,  my  dear  sir,  that  I should  ? 
I have  health  and  strength, — these,  to  me,  are 
positive  wealth.  I possess  them  now,  and 
I must  make  the  most  of  them.  If  the  un- 
certainty of  our  possessions  is  to  paralyze  our 
exertions,  those  who  have  money  are  nearly  as 
bad  off  as  those  who  have  not.  Riches  take 
to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away, — they  are 
at  the  mercy  of  fii’e  and  water.  Uncertainty  is 
written  upon  all  things.  I believe  my  pros- 
pects are  as  stable  as  most  people’s.’ 

‘ Let  me  hear  what  they  are.’ 

‘ In  the  first  place,  sir,  I have  health ; in  the 
next,  activity ; and  then,  my  profession  is  a 
pretty  sure  one.  A physician  will  always 
find  patients,  if  he  is  attentive  and  skilful ; and 
I mean  to  be  both.  However,  I confess  that 
our  greatest  security  for  a living,  will  consist 
in  our  moderate  desires  and  simple  habits. 
You  know,  sir,  Jane  has  no  passion  for  fine 
dress,  and  in  short ’ 


THE  MEANS. 


15 


‘In  short,  Frank,  you  are  determined  to 
be  married,  and  there  is  an  end  of  all  argu- 
ment.’ 

‘ I only  wait  for  your  consent,  sir.’ 

‘ You  know  very  well  that  mine  will  follow 
Jane’s ; — and  she  is  willing  to  live  with  you  on 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life  ? ’ 

Jane  only  answered  by  an  assenting  smile. 

‘ Very  well,  I give  up ; one  thing,  however, 
let  me  tell  you, — beyond  bread  and  water,  a 
shelter  for  one’s  head,  a bag  of  straw  to  sleep 
on,  and  covering  and  fuel  to  guard  us  from 
the  inclemencies  of  the  weather,  there  are  no 
positive  necessaries ; all  the  rest  are  compara- 
tive ! ’ 

Jane  had  hitherto  sat  very  quietly  at  her 
work ; but  she  now  laid  it  in  her  lap,  and  look- 
ed up  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

‘You  do  not  agree  with  me,  I perceive,’ 
said  uncle  Joshua ; ‘ tell  me,  then,  what  you 
think  are  the  necessaries  of  life.’ 

‘ I confess,  sir,’  said  Jane,  a little  contempt- 
uously, ‘when  I agreed  with  Frank,  that  we 
could  live  on  the  necessaries  of  life,  I did  not 
mean  like  the  beasts  of  the  field,  or  the  birds 


16 


LIVING  WITHIN 


of  the  air ; but,  c;racluating  our  ideas  to  what  is 
around  us,  I am  sure  we  shall  ask  for  nothin'^ 
more  than  the  necessaries  of  life ; — the  luxu- 
ries,’ added  she,  with  a pretty  sentimental  air, 
‘ we  will  draw  from  our  own  hearts.’ 

‘And  I,’  said  Frank,  looking  enchanted 
with  her  eloquence,  ‘ shall  be  the  happiest  of 
men.’ 

‘ Graduating  our  ideas  to  what  is  around  us !’ 
exclaimed  uncle  Joshua.  ‘ Ah,  there  it  is  ; 
you  could  live  on  broth,  or  water-gruel,  if  every 
body  else  did ; but  the  fact  is,  that  nobody  does, 
and  so  you,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  will  live 
a little  beyond  your  means.’ 

‘ No,  sir,’  said  the  young  people,  eagerly  ; 
‘ we  are  determined  to  make  it  a rule  never  to 
exceed  our  means.’ 

‘ As  long  as  you  keep  to  that  rule,  you  are 
safe  ; — you  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  beset 
by  temptations.  But  I have  done  ; advice  is 
of  little  value,  where  we  have  nothing  else  to 
give, — and  that  is  pretty  much  my  case ; — but 
a bachelor’s  wants  are  few.’ 

‘Yes,  dear  uncle,’  said  Jane,  smiling;  ‘he 
wants  nothing  but  the  necessaries  of  life;  an 


THE  MEANS. 


17 


elbow-chair,  a good  fire,  and  a cigar  half  a 
dozen  times  a day ; and  long,  long,’  added  she, 
affectionately  embracing  him,  ‘ may  you  enjoy 
them,  and  give  to  us  what  is  of  far  more  value 
than  money, — your  affection, — and  on  every 
other  subject,  your  advice.’ 

In  one  fortnight  from  this  conversation, 
Frank  and  Jane  were  man  and  wife.  Perhaps 
a more  united,  or  a more  rational  pair,  had 
seldom  pronounced  the  marriage  vow.  They 
began  with  the  wise  purpose  of  incurring  no 
debts ; and  took  lodgings  at  a cheap  rate,  in  an 
obscure,  but  populous  part  of  the  city. 

Most  young  physicians  begin  life  with  some 
degree  of  patronage,  but  Frank  had  none  ; he 
came  to  the  city  a stranger,  from  the  wilds  of 
Vermont,  fell  in  love  with  Jane  Churchwood, 
— uncle  Joshua’s  niece, — a man  whom  nobody 
knew,  and  whose  independence  consisted  in 
limiting  his  wants  to  his  means.  What  little 
he  could  do  for  Jane,  he  cheerfully  did. 
But  after  all  necessary  expenses  were  paid, 
the  young  people  had  but  just  enough  between 
them  to  secure  their  first  quarter’s  board,  and 
place  a sign  on  the  comer  of  the  house,  by 
2* 


18 


LIVING  WITHIN 


special  permission,  with  Doctor  Fulton,  hand- 
somely inscribed  upon  it.  The  sign  seemed 
to  excite  but  little  attention, — as  nobody  call- 
ed to  see  the  owner  of  it, — though  he  was  at 
home  every  hour  in  the  day. 

After  a week  of  patient  expectation,  which 
could  not  be  said  to  pass  heavily, — for  they 
worked,  read  and  talked  together, — Frank 
thought  it  best  to  add  to  the  sign.  Practises 
for  the  poor  gratis.  At  the  end  of  a few  days 
another  clause  was  added, — Furnishes  medi- 
cines to  those  who  cannot  afford  to  pay  for 
them.  In  a very  short  time,  the  passers  by 
stopped  to  spell  out  the  words,  and  Frank 
soon  began  to  reap  the  benefit  of  this  addition. 
Various  applications  were  made,  and  though 
they  did  not  as  yet  promise  any  increase  of 
revenue,  he  was  willing  to  pay  for  the  first 
stepping  stone.  What  had  begun,  however, 
from  true  New  England  calculation,  was  con- 
tinued from  benevolence.  He  was  introduced 
to  scenes  of  misery,  that  made  him  forget  all 
but  the  desire* of  relieving  the  wretchedness  he 
witnessed  ; and  when  he  related  to  his  young 
and  tender-hearted  wife,  the  situation  in  which 


THE  ME  ANS  . 


19 


he  found  a mother  confined  to  her  bed,  with  two 
or  three  helpless  children  crying  around  her 
for  bread,  Jane  would  put  on  her  straw  bonnet, 
and  follow  him  with  a light  step  to  the  dreary 
abode.  The  first  quarter’s  board  came  round  ; 
it  was  paid,  and  left  them  nearly  penniless. 
There  is  something  in  benevolent  purpose,  as 
well  as  In  industry,  that  cheers  and  supports 
the  mind.  Never  was  Jane’s  step  lighter,  nor 
her  smile  gayer,  than  at  present.  But  this 
could  not  last ; the  next  quarter’s  board  must 
be  provided, — and  how?  Still  the  work  of 
mercy  went  on,  and  did  not  grow  slack. 

‘ See,’  said  Jane,  one  morning,  when  she 
entered  with  a basket  on  her  arm,  ‘ see  what  a 
present  our  landlady  has  made  me  ; and  she 
displayed  her  broken  bread  and  cold  i leat.  ‘ I 
am  going  to  poor  ]\Irs.  Barber’s,  to  feed  the 
children.  Do  you  not  think  if  I could  every 
day  carry  your  patients  such  a supply  as  this, 
I should  -prove  the  best  physician  of  the 
two  ? ’ 

‘ Healthy  food,’  said  Frank,  ‘ is  undoubtedly 
a preventive  to  diseases ; but  allow  me  some 
merit,  after  the  mischief  is  done.  We  will 


20 


LIVING  WITHIN 


go  togetner,  however,  this  morning,  as  consult- 
ing  physicians.’ 

And  they  went  together  to  Ann  Street, 
ascended  a crooked  flight  of  stairs,  and  entered 
the  forlorn  apartment,  where  lay  the  sick  mother, 
while  the  hungry,  squalid  children  were  gath- 
ered round  the  ashes  upon  the  hearth.  But 
an  object  attracted  their  attention,  that  might 
be  said  to  afford  all  the  picturesque  relief,  which 
a painter  would  require  in  such  a scene.  By 
the  side  of  the  bed  sat  a lady  in  the  prime  of 
life,  redolent  with  health  and  beauty,  and 
dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion.  After  gazing 
with  some  surprise  at  the  new  comers,  she 
Lent  over  the  sufferer,  sweeping  her  bird-of- 
paradise  feathers  in  the  sick  woman’s  face,  and 
inquired  ‘ who  they  were  ? ’ In  the  meantime 
tlie  children  gathered  round  Jane,  and,  with  a 
true  animal  instinct,  began  to  scent  the  pro- 
vision that  the  basket  contained.  It  was  with 
difficulty  she  could  restrain  their  eager  appe- 
tites. The  lady  looked  on  with  wonder, — 
and  inhaled  the  odor  of  the  vinaigrette  attach- 
ed to  her  watch-chain. 

‘ I hope  there  is  nothing  infectious,’  said 
she,  in  a low  voice  to  the  doctor. 


THE  MEANS. 


21 


He  assured  her  there  was  riot.  ‘ She  has 
been,’  said  lie,  ‘ too  weak  to  work  for  several 
months,  and  is  reduced  to  this  state  as  much 
by  the  want  of  nourishing  food,  as  disease.  ’ 

‘ Good  heavens,’  said  the  lady,  putting  her 
embroidered  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
‘ why  did  she  not  go  to  the  alms-house !’ 

The  woman’s  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  was 
articulated. 

‘ There  is  a very  foolish  prejudice  against 
this  institution,’  said  IMrs.  Hart, — which  was 
the  name  of  the  lady.  ‘ I have  known  many 
people  that  had  rather  beg  than  go  there.’ 

‘ It  is  foolish,’  said  the  doctor,  ‘ if  that  is 
the  case ; but  as  long  as  people  can  earn  a 
living  without  applying  to  the  town  for  support, 
we  must  commend  them  for  their  exertions.’ 

‘ I am  very  sorry,’  replied  she,  ‘ that  IMartha 
did  not  let  me  know  her  situation  before ; I 
certainly  would  have  done  all  I could  to  relieve 
her.’ 

‘Then  you  know  her,  madam,’  said  Jane, 
for  the  first  time  speaking  to  the  lady. 

‘ Yes, — that  is,  she  has  washed  in  my 
kitchen  for  some  weeks.’ 


22 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘ Months’  said  Martha,  with  exertion. 

‘ She  sent  to  me,’  continued  the  lady,  ‘ a 
few  days  ago,  and  I ordered  my  coacliman, 
tliis  morning,  to  find  out  where  she  lived,  and 
I have  ventured  here,  notwithstanding  my  weak 
nerves  and  delicate  health.’ 

‘ How  good  of  you,  madam,’  said  Jane,  who 
was  evidently  impressed  by  the  apparent  rank 
of  the  lady  ; ‘ Mrs.  Barber  is  very  destitute.’ 

‘ So  I perceive  ; but  I rejoice  she  has  found 
friends  in  you,  able  and  willing  to  assist  her.’ 
‘We  are  more  willing  than  able,’  said  Jane, 
meekly. 

‘ That  is  precisely  my  case,’  replied  Mrs. 
Hart. 

Jane  glanced  at  her  costly  apparel. 

‘We,  who  are  called  n'cA,’  said  Mrs.  Hart, 
‘ have  constant  claims  ; but  I will  assist  you  in 
aiding  poor  Martha  ; ’ — and  she  drew  from  her 
reticule  a splendid  crimson  purse,  and  drawing 
back  the  gold  rings,  placed  in  the  woman’s 
emaciated  hand  a small  sum.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  the  woman  discovered  no  gratitude, 
but  rather  made  a rejecting  motion. 

‘ She  is  too  sick,  madam,’  said  Jane, 


THE  MEANS. 


23 


springing  forward,  ‘ to  thank  you  as  she  would ; 
but  if  you  will  trust  me,  I will  see  that  your 
bounty  is  properly  applied  to  the  wants  of  the 
family;  they  are  suffering  for  almost  every 
thing.’ 

‘ Certainly,’  replied  the  lady  ; ‘ and  I should 
esteem  it  a kindness,  if  you  or  Dr.  Fulton 
would  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me  know  how 
Martha  goes  on;  my  health  does  not  pennit 
such  exertions  as  these  often.’ 

Jane,  who  had  been  maturing  a little  plan 
in  her  own  mind,  for  the  benefit  of  the  chil- 
dren, promised  her  she  would  call  in  a few 
days  ; and  Frank,  with  a native  politeness  that 
quite  won  Mrs.  Hart,  saw  her  not  only  to  the 
bottom  of  the  crooked  stairs,  but  to  her  car- 
riage, where  her  footman  stood,  holding  the 
door  in  waiting  for  his  lady. 

‘ How  happy,’  said  Jane,  when  they  return- 
ed home,  ‘ must  Mrs.  Hart  be ; so  benevolent 
and  so  rich  ! ’ 

‘ How  do  you  know,  my  dear,  she  is  so 
rich  ? ’ said  her  husband. 

‘ Why,  did  not  you  observe  how  costly  her 
dress  was  ? ’ 


24 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘That  is  no  proof,’  said  Frank  ; ‘ you  know 
she  said,  like  us,  she  was  more  willing  than 
able.’ 

‘ But  you  know  her  situation  must  be  very 
different  from  ours ; why,  her  pelisse  cost  more 
than  all  my  gowns  put  together,  I will  an- 
swer for  it.’ 

‘ If  she  spends  so  much  upon  her  pelisse,’ 
said  F rank,  laughing,  ‘ I am  afraid  she  has  but 
litde  left  to  give  away.’ 

‘ That  is  by  no  means  a candid  conclusion,’ 
said  Jane,  assuming  her  sentimental  air ; ‘ on 
the  contrary,  when  we  see  a person  richly 
dressed,  it  is  but  just  to  suppose  they  are 
wealthy.’ 

‘ It  would  be  so,  if  every  thing  was  governed 
by  justice  and  right  reason,  and  we  were  not 
continually  drawing  false  inferences  from  ap- 
pearances. You  know,  Mrs.  Hart  said  she 
was  very  glad  Martha  had  found  friends  “ ahle 
and  willing  to  assist  her ; ” perhaps  she 
thought  we  were  very  rich.’ 

‘ O,  I am  sure  she  could  not,’  said  Jane, 
with  some  vexation,  ‘ if  she  looked  at  my  old 
straw  bonnet  and  calico  gown.’ 


THE  MEANS. 


25 


‘Well,  dear,’  replied  Frank,  affectionately, 
‘I  suppose  she  did  not;  she  only  looked  at 
your  bright  blue  eyes,  and  saw  you  feeding 
the  hungry.’ 

In  a few  days,  things  wore  a more  comfort- 
able appearance  at  Martha’s.  The  lady’s 
bounty  was  well  applied.  Fuel  and  food  were 
provided ; but  still  the  children  were  too  desti- 
tute of  clothing  to  attend  any  of  the  schools. 
Jane’s  plan,  that  we  have  before  alluded  to, 
was  fast  approaching  maturity.  She  deter- 
mined to  solicit  aid  for  clothing  the  children  ; 
but  a feeling  of  delicacy  led  her  to  delay  it,  in 
hopes  she  might  be  able  to  give  a respectable 
sum  herself.  In  the  mean  time.  Dr.  Fulton 
pursued  his  course  with  persevering  industry. 
Martha’s  return  from  what  her  own  class  styled 
death's  door,  gave  him  celebrity  with  them ; 
but  a new  case,  more  convincing,  soon  occur- 
red. He  was  called  to  a man  who  was  dying. 
He  hastened  to  the  place,  and  found  the  too 
frequent  companions  of  the  poor, — superstition 
and  ignorance.  The  sick  man  was  stretched 
on  his  bed  of  straw,  his  family  huddled  round 
him,  groaning,  sobbing  and  crying  aloud,  the 
3 


26 


LIVING  WITHIN 


room  crowded  by  people  drawn  there  from 
curiosity ; — for,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  there 
are  those,  who,  much  as  they  dread  the  agonies 
of  death  for  themselves,  are  eager  to  witness 
them  in  others.  The  doctor’s  first  care  was  to 
clear  and  ventilate  the  room,  and  then  to  ad- 
minister such  restoratives  as  he  thought  judi- 
cious. The  consequence  was,  that  the  man 
began  to  draw  a longer  breath,  and,  in  the 
course  of  a few  days,  was  spoken  of  as  cured 
by  Dr.  Fulton,  after  every  body  had  given  him 
over ! 

Frank  had  now  no  want  of  employment 
from  the  poor ; but,  by  degrees,  those  who  could 
afford  to  pay  began  to  apply ; and  at  length  a 
carriage,  but  little  inferior  in  elegance  to  Mrs. 
Hart’s,  stopped  at  his  lodgings.  Jane’s  heart 
fluttered  as  she  heard  Sir.  Harrington’s  name 
announced,  for  she  knew  he  was  one  of  the 
wealthiest  of  the  city.  His  visit  was  that  of  a 
hypochondriac,  who,  after  trying  various  phy- 
sicians and  various  systems,  had  heard  of  the 
fame  of  Dr.  F ulton,  of  his  wonderful  success, 
and  came  hoping  to  get  aid  for  himself. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a fairer  chance  for 


THE  MEANS  . 


27 


quackery;  but  Dr.  Fulton,  to  do  him  justice, 
bad  no  tact  for  such  little  arts.  He  frankly 
told  him  that  his  restoration  depended  much 
moi'e  on  himself  than  on  a physician,  suggested 
modes  of  exercise,  of  diet,  cheerful  society, 
and  relaxation  from  business  and  care ; and 
when  the  gentleman  insisted  on  the  doctor’s 
success  in  curing  desperate  cases,  he  assured 
him,  that  his  most  powerful  agents  among  the 
poor  had  been  what  they  could  command 
without  his  aid, — temperance  and  cleanliness. 
Mr.  Harrington  was  struck  with  the  doctor’s 
honesty  and  good  sense,  and  felt  moved  by  the 
apparent  poverty  of  his  and  his  young  wife’s 
situation.  At  parting  he  did  not  confine  him- 
self to  a regular  fee,  but  said,  ‘As  you  practise 
gratis  for  the  poor,  it  is  but  just  that  the  rich 
should  pay  you  double.’  He  requested  Frank 
to  visit  him  daily;  and  this  he  continued  to 
do  ; and,  as  he  had  leisure  to  make  long  calls 
and  encase  him  in  cheerful  conversation,  Mr. 
Harrington  rapidly  improved  under  the  best  of 
all  systems  for  a hypochondriac. 

Thus  far  we  have  followed  our  young  couple 
in  their  struggle  for  a living.  Not  a debt, 


28 


LIVING  WITHIN 


hitherto,  had  been  incurred  ; and  besides  time 
and  medicines,  they  had  always  found  some- 
thing to  give.  But  as  their  pecuniary  pros- 
pect brightens,  our  walks  must  enlarge.  Dr. 
Fulton  was  daily  working  his  way  into  the 
mor<^  enlightened  orders  of  society.  His  day- 
book and  leger  began  to  be  necessary,  and 
tlie  gentle-hearted  Jane  was  no  longer  obliged 
to  beg  a pittance  for  the  poor. 

We  must  now  make  an  excursion  to  another 
part  of  the  city,  for  our  friends  boarded  at  what 
is  called  the  North-End,  In  a splendid  apart- 
ment, ornamented  with  mirrors  and  girandoles, 
whose  diamond  cut-drops  reflected  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow,  hung  round  with  paintings 
and  curtained  with  damask,  in  an  elegant 
morning  dress,  on  a cushioned  divan,  sat  Mrs. 
Hart.  Twice  she  rang  the  bell,  and  twice  a 
footman  made  his  appearance. 

‘ Have  not  the  shawls  come  yet  ? ’ both 
times  she  inquired. 

‘ No,  madam,’ 

‘ Are  you  sure  you  made  no  mistake  ? ’ 

‘ Yes,  madam.’ 

‘ Give  me  my  cologne  bottle  ; not  that,  the 


THE  MEANS. 


29 


porcelain ; ’ and  she  poured  the  perlume  over 
her  handkerchief.  ‘ So  provoking  ! ’ 

At  that  moment,  a man  was  ushered  into 
the  room,  with  a box  under  his  arm.  The 
footman  was  ordered  out,  and  the  treasures  of 
the  box  displayed.  There  were  camels-hair 
shawls  of  different  prices,  from  one  hundred  to 
three  hundi’ed  dollars.  The  first  were  thrown 
scornfully  aside.  One  for  two  hundred  was 
elegant.  It  was,  however,  too  dear ; she 
could  not  afford  it, — ^but  she  must  have  some 
kind  of  a shawl ; — she  was  suffering  for  one. 
The  man  assured  her  she  never  would  repent 
taking  one  of  them,  and  she  began  to  think  so 
herself.  At  length,  she  decided  to  keep  the 
one  for  two  hundred,  if  there  was  no  hurry  for 
payment.  ‘ Not  the  least,’  the  man  assured 
her ; ‘ but  perhaps  she  had  better  look  at  an- 
other he  had.’  Another  was  displayed ; but 
the  cost  of  it  was  three  hundred  dollars.  ‘ It 
was  elegant, — it  was  superb,’  but  it  was  wholly 
out  of  her  power  to  buy  it ; ‘ and  yet,  really, 
the  one  she  had  selected  looked  positively 
ordinary  by  the  side  of  it ; ’ and  she  cast  a 
glance  of  indignation  towards  the  two  hun- 

3* 


30 


LIVING  WITHIN 


dred  dollar  shawl.  The  man  urged  the  menta 
of  the  three  hundred  dollar  one,  and  at  length 
threw  it  over  her  shoulders.  It  hung  gracefully 
to  the  hem  of  her  garment.  She  surveyed  her- 
self before,  turned,  and,  with  her  head  over 
her  shoulder,  surveyed  herself  behind  ; she 
wrapped  it  round,  and  she  flung  it  open  ; she 
disposed  it  over  one  arm  in  folds.  This  last 
effect  was  irresistible, — it  was  truly  Grecian 
drapery, — it  decided  the  matter.  ‘ Very  well,’ 
said  she,  ‘ the  shawl  is  mine.  I must  have 
one  ; and  I suppose,  in  the  end,  this  will  be  as 
cheap  as  any.’ 

At  that  moment,  hlrs.  Fulton  was  announc- 
ed. The  man  was  hurried  out,  and  the  shawl 
thrown  gracefully  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa. 

•My  dear  Mrs.  Fulton,’  said  the  lady,  ‘ I 
have  been  expecting  you  to  call  and  see  me  ; 
I remembered  your  promise.’ 

Jane  was  delighted  with  her  reception,  and 
proceeded  at  once  to  mention  her  plan.  It  was 
to  get  up  a subscription  to  supply  clothing  as 
well  as  schooling  for  a certain  number  of  poor 
children,  including  Martha’s. 

‘ I thought  Martha  was  able  to  work  by  tliis 

time,’  said  the  lady. 


THE  MEANS. 


31 


‘ She  is  still  very  feeble,  and  can  barely 
procure  food  for  herself  and  children.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  would  approve  of  iny 
plan.  I would  not  set  it  going  till  I was  able 
to  contribute  my  part  by money,  as  well  as 
time.  My  husband  has  been  successful  be- 
yond his  expectations,  and  I have  now  a feel- 
ing of  independence  in  asking.’ 

‘ How  benevolent  you  are,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Fulton  ! Would  to  Heaven  I had  the  means 
of  being  equally  so ! but  my  time  is  wholly 
engrossed,  and  the  claims  upon  my  purse  are 
constant.  Perhaps  none  are  so  heavily  taxed 
as  the  rich,  or  have  less  right  to  be  called 
affluent.  I declare  to  you,’  said  she,  drawing 
forth  her  elegant  crimson  silk  purse,  and  hold- 
ing it  suspended  on  her  jewelled  finger,  ‘ I 
cannot  command  a farthing ; you  see  how 
empty  it  is.  But  I approve  your  plan.  Per- 
haps you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  advance  the 
same  sum  for  me  that  you  pay  for  yourself. 
We  will  settle  it  w hen  we  next  meet.’ 

Jane  cheerfully  assented,  and  took  her  leave  ; 
and  Mrs.  Hart,  with  lier  three  hundred  dollar 
shawl,  became  the  debtor  of  Jane. 


32 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘How  strange  it  is,’  said  Mrs.  Fulton,  as 
she  related  the  circumstance  to  her  husband, 
‘ that,  in  the  midst  of  such  luxury,  she  had  not 
five  dollars  to  give  in  charity,  for  that  was  all 
I wanted  ! ’ 

‘ You  do  not  understand  this  thing,  my  poor 
Jane,’  said  Frank,  smiling ; ‘it  seems  to  you 
incredible  that  Mrs.  Hart  can  be  poor.  I will 
demonstrate  the  matter  to  you.  You  admit 
that  we  are  rich  now,  compared  to  what  we 
were  two  months  ago.  We  have  our  next 
quarter’s  rent  secure, — are  able  to  buy  books, 
and  have  something  left  to  give  away.  But  if 
I were  to  make  expensive  purchases  that  would 
consume  nearly  all  we  have  accumulated,  and 
you  took  it  in  your  head  you  would  have  a 
pelisse  as  costly  as  Mrs.  Hart’s,  then  you 
would  be  as  poor  as  she  was  to-day,  and  could 
not  afford  to  give  any  thing  away,  instead  of 
becoming  her  creditor.’ 

‘According  to  your  definition,’  said  Jane, 

‘ those  who  live  within  their  means  are  the 
only  wealthy  people.’ 

‘ They  certainly  are  to  all  the  purposes  of 
present  comfort ; and  so  you  must  be  thankful 


THE  MEANS 


33 


that  you  have  married  a man  who  has  found 
out  the  philosoplier’s  stone.’ 

‘ Better  than  that,’  said  Jane  ; ‘ who  has  the 
art  of  being  rich  with  a very  little  money.’ 

The  next  day  Jane  went  to  see  Mrs.  Bar- 
ber, and  propose  to  her  her  plan  of  clothing 
the  children,  and  providing  a school  for  them. 
The  woman  expressed  her  gratitude,  and  Jane 
thought  it  but  just  to  mention  her  benefactors. 
When  she  named  IMrs.  Hart  among  them,  IMrs. 
Barber  said,  ‘ Indeed,  madam,  I do  not  ask  her 
to  give  me  any  thing,  if  she  will  only  pay  me 
what  is  justly  my  due.’  Jane  now  learned, 
with  astonishment,  that  the  poor  woman  had 
washed  ‘ in  her  kitchen  ’ for  nearly  a year, 
without  being  able  to  obtain  payment. 

‘ It  was  fom  that,  madam,  I sent  to  entreat 
her  to  come  and  see  me,  hoping  she  might  be 
moved  by  my  distress  ; and  she  did,  you  know, 
pay  me  a small  sum.  I have  credited  her  for 
that ; but  it  is  a small  part  of  what  she  owes 
me.’ 

‘ I hope,’  said  Jane,  after  a long  pause,  in 
which  her  countenance  discovered  the  work- 
ings of  her  mind,  ‘ I hope  there  are  few  such 
instances  as  this.’ 


34 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘ I never  met  with  such  a one,  not  exactly,’ 
added  she  hesitatingly  ; ‘ but,  indeed,  madam, 
the  rich  little  consider  how  important  our 
wages  for  a day’s  work  are  to  us.  It  would 
be  bad  manners  in  us  to  insist  upon  being  paid 
immediately ; and  yet  many’s  the  time  when 
I have  depended  upon  one  day’s  wages  for 
my  children’s  food  for  the  next.’ 

‘ It  must  be  such  a trifle  to  the  rich,  that  if 
you  only  let  them  know  you  are  going  away 
they  will  pay  you.’ 

‘ It  is  because  it  is  such  a trifle  to  them,  I 
suppose,’  said  the  woman,  ‘ that  they  cannot 
understand  how  important  it  is  to  us.  Some 
how  or  other,  rich  ladies  never  have  any  thing 
they  call  change,  and  they  are  very  apt  to 
say,  “ they  will  remember  it,”  and  “ another 
time  will  do  as  well ; ” and  so  it  is  as  well  for 
them,  but  not  for  ms.’ 

]\Irs.  Barber’s  heart  seemed  to  be  quite 
opened  by  Jane’s  sympathy,  and  she  went  on. 

‘ Indeed,  ma’am,  I sometimes  think  there  is 
more  kindness  towards  the  poor  than  there  is 
justice.  The  ladies  are  very  good  in  getting 
up  societies  and  fairs  to  help  us ; but  they  very 


THE  MEANS. 


35 


often  seem  unwilling  to  pay  us  the  full  price 
of  our  labor.  If  they  would  pay  us  well,  and 
give  us  less,  it  would  be  better  for  us.’ 

‘ Perhaps  you  are  right,’ said  Jane,  ‘about 
paying  for  work  ; but  only  think  how  much 
good  has  been  done  by  fairs ! ’ 

‘ Yes,  ma’am  ; good  has  been  done  to  some, 
and  injury  to  others.  I know  of  a poor  woman 
who  was  bom  a lady,  and  who  was  reduced  in 
her  circumstances.  Her  health  was  very  feeble, 
but  still  she  was  able  to  earn  a living  by  mak- 
ing those  curious  little  things  that  they  sell  at 
fairs  ; but  since  the  ladies  have  taken  to  mak- 
ing them,  it  is  hard  times  with  her ; for  she 
says  the  market  is  overmn.’ 

‘ The  right  way,’  said  Jane,  ‘ would  be  to 
employ  these  people  to  work  for  others,  and 
instead  of  the  ladies  making  pin-cushions  and 
emery-bags,  to  buy  them  ready  made,  and  sell 
them  again.  Then  charity  would  operate  equal- 
ly among  the  poor ; for  what  one  class  could 
not  make,  another  could,  and  labor  would  be 
exchanged.’ 

‘ I do  n’t  know  how  it  ought  to  be  settled. 
Perhaps  it  is  all  right  as  it  is;  but  we  poor 


36 


LIVING  WITHIN 


folks  think  we  have  our  wrongs.  For  instance, 
ma’am,  I sometimes  do  washing  for  people  at 
boarding-houses.  They  will  appoint  me  to  co'me 
about  9 o’clock  in  the  morning  to  get  their 
clothes.  When  I go,  very  likely  they  are  not 
up.  Then  I must  wait  till  they  are, — sometimes 
an  hour  or  more.  All  this  is  lost  time  to  me  ; 
and  time,  to  daily  laborers,  is  money,  hly 
husband  was  a carpenter ; and  he  used  to  say, 
that  he  gave  the  rich  a great  deal  more  tlian 
he  got  from  them,  for  he  gave  them  time. 
One  fine  lady  and  another  would  send  for  him, 
and  ask  him  if  he  could  not  put  a shelf  up 
here,  or  make  a closet  there ; and  after  he  had 
measured  and  calculated,  perhaps  they  would 
come  to  the  conclusion  not  to  have  any  thing 
done,  and  he  had  his  trouble  for  his  pains.’ 

‘Ah  the  wrongs  you  have  mentioned,’  said 
Jane,  ‘ seem  to  arise  from  want  of  considera- 
tion, not  want  of  benevolence.’ 

‘ That ’s  pretty  much  what  I said,  ma’am, 
at  first, — that  now-a-days  there  was  more 
kindness  to  the  poor  than  justice.  If  I was 
paid  for  all  the  time  I have  wasted  in  waiting 
upon  the  rich,  sometimes  for  clothes,  sometimes 


THE  MEANS. 


37 


for  pay, — for  I often  have  to  go  two  or 
three  times  before  I can  find  a lady  at  home, 
— I should  be  better  off  than  I am  now.  To 
be  sure,  it  is  but  small  sums  that  are  due  to 
us ; but  my  husband  used  to  say  these  ought 
to  be  paid  right  away,  because  they  do  n’t  go 
upon  interest  like  larger  ones.’ 

‘ You  seem  to  have  thought  a good  aeai  on 
this  subject,’  said  Jane. 

‘ I take  it,’  said  Mrs.  Barber,  ‘ that  we  must 
all  think ; at  least,  I never  saw  the  time  when 
I could  drive  thoughts  out  of  my  head,  thougli 
I am  sure,  when  you  first  took  me  up,  it  was 
sad  enough  to  think ; and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  my  poor  children,  I should  have  been  glad 
enough  to  have  laid  down  in  the  cold  grave, 
and  thought  no  more  in  this  world.’ 

‘ How  tme  was  your  remark,’  said  Jane, 
when  she  related  the  poor  woman’s  conversa- 
tion to  her  husband,  ‘that  if  Mrs.  Hart  spent 
so  much  upon  her  pelisse,  she  probably  had 
little  to  give  away ! I am  sure  I never  shall 
see  a very  costly  dress  again,  that  I shall  not 
think  of  poor  Maitha.’ 

‘ You  must  not  think  all  the  wealthy 

4 


are 


38 


LIVING  WITHIN 


like  Mrs.  Hart,  Jane.  I believe  such  instances, 
in  onr  city,  at  least,  are  rare,  and  that  few 
ladies  would  sufter  a debt  like  this  to  go  un- 
paid, and  in  the  mean  time  give  ostentatiously. 
At  the  same  time,  it  illustrates  the  inordinate 
indulgence  of  luxury,  which  seldom  fails,  I 
believe,  to  harden  the  heart  and  make  people 
selfish.  But  I dare  say,  any  body  that  looked 
in  upon  us,  and  heard  us  reasoning  so  sagely 
upon  the  evils  of  wealth,  would  apply  to  us 
the  fable  of  the  fox  and  the  grapes.’ 

‘ I should  like,  however,’  said  Jane,  ‘ to  be 
rich  once,  if  it  was  only  to  show  others  how 
much  good  riches  might  do.’ 

‘Luckily,’  said  Frank,  ‘you  would  not  be 
the  first  to  illustrate  this  subject ; we  have  had 
noble  examples  of  munificence  in  our  city.  At 
present,  Jane,  it  is  wisest  to  turn  our  study 
towards  seeing  how  much  good  we  can  do 
with  a little.’ 

Dr.  Fulton’s  business  increased  with  his 
reputation,  and  his  reputation  with  his  business. 
At  the  end  of  a year,  he  felt  authorized  to  rent 
a small  house,  and  begin  house-keepir?i.  Their 
arrangements  were  as  economical  as  possible ; 


THE  MEANS. 


39 


and,  on  this  occasion,  uncle  Joshua,  who  was 
first  consulted,  veiy  kindly  gave  them  more 
money  than  advice. 

Now,  indeed,  our  young  couple  felt  happy. 
There  is  something  in  home  that  gives  dignity 
to  life.  The  man,  who  can  say  my  home  and 
my  family,  possesses  the  strongest  influence 
that  can  operate  on  character. 

It  was  a cold  evening  in  December  that 
they  took  possession  of  their  little  tenement. 
The  first  flight  of  snow  was  just  beginning  to 
fall,  and  the  dark  clouds  were  separated  from 
the  horizon  by  a pale  streak  of  blue,  watery 
light ; but  within  the  little  parlor,  all  was 
bright  and  cheerfid.  The  fire  sent  its  flicker- 
ing beams  throughout  the  apartment,  enlivening 
the  books  and  the  furniture,  and  resting  on  the 
chdhrful  faces  of  the  young  couple,  now  radiant 
with  happiness. 

‘What  do  we  want  more?’  said  Jane,  as 
they  seated  themselves  at  the  tea-table.  ‘ All 
the  world  could  not  make  us  happier  than  we 
are  now.’ 

/ The're  is  a great  satisfaction,’  said  Frank, 
‘"m  having  earned  our  comforts.’ 


40 


LIVING  WITHIN 


‘Yes/  replied  Jane;  ‘even  uncle  Joshua 
has  become  a convert,  and  says  we  were  wise 
to  marry.’ 

At  that  moment,  the  door-bell  rung.  It  was 
a message  from  Mr.  Harrington,  requesting  to 
see  the  doctor  immediately. 

‘ How  provoking  ! ’ exclaimed  Jane.  ‘ I 
suppose  he  has  taken  it  in  his  head  that  his 
throat  is  closing  up,  or  that  he  has  a fifth  finger 
growing  out  of  his  hand.  It  is  too  bad,  to 
disturb  our  very  first  evening  at  home  ! ’ 

‘ You  forget,  Jane,  that  we  owe  a large 
proportion  of  our  present  prosperity  to  his 
whims ; besides,  he  has  procured  me  many 
friends.  I will  be  back  as  quickly  as 
possible.’ 

In  a short  time,  Frank  returned;  the  tea- 
kettle again  sent  forth  its  hissing  sound,  and 
the  tea-pot  was  again  replenished. 

Jane  grew  anxious  about  Mr.  Harrington, 
and  hoped  ‘ he  was  not  seriously  sick.’ — ‘ How 
the  wind  blows  ! ’ said  she.  ‘ Ah,  if  there  is 
any  thing  that  makes  us  feel  the  blessing  of 
home,  it  is  such  a night  as  this.’ 

But  poor  Jane  was  doomed  to  be  disap- 


THE  MEANS. 


41 


pointed.  Again  the  door-bell  rung.  ‘I  have 
no  doubt,’  she  exclaimed,  ‘ but  Mr.  Harrington 
has  sent  again.’  She  was  mistaken  ; it  was  the 
little  raffged  son  of  the  widow  Warner,  one  of 
the  doctor’s  patients,  for  whom  he  ‘ practised 
gratis,  and  furnished  medicines.’  The  hoy 
said,  ‘ his  mother  wanted  the  doctor  to  come 
right  away  that  minute,  for  little  Betsey  had 
pulled  a kettle  of  scalding  water  over  her.’ 

To  this  message  Jane  made  no  opposition, 
but  hastened  her  husband’s  departure.  Little 
Betsey  was  one  of  her  protegees,  and  it  was 
but  the  day  before  that,  as  she  observed  her  at 
the  infant  school,  she  thought  she  should  be 
perfectly  satisfied  with  possessing  such  a healthy 
and  intelligent  child.  In  this  respect,  she  was 
soon  gratified.  As  a mother,  Jane  was  exem- 
plary in  her  duties ; and,  as  the  number  of  her 
children  increased,  she  might  be  truly  said  to 
share  the  laborious  toil  of  the  family.  At  first, 
she  had  but  one  female  domestic,  and  then  IMrs. 
Barber’s  little  daughter  was  occasionally  called 
in.  Many  a weary  day  and  night  did  Jane 
cheerfully  go  through, — sometimes  she  had  to 
watch  by  a sick  child  till  the  morning  dawn, — 

4# 


42 


LIVING  WITHIN 


and  then  came  washing-day,  and  she  must  hold 
her  infant  in  her  arms  till  night  came  round 
again.  All  these  were  labors  of  love,  and 
brought  their  own  reward.  Frank’s  sphere 
of  business  continued  to  enlarge.  He  no  longer 
trudged  about  on  foot,  but  purchased  a horse 
and  chaise,  and  his  leaden  weight  with  it,  to  give 
the  horse  a hint  to  wait  his  master’s  pleasure.. 
In  short,  he  was  acknowledged  as  one  of  the 
faculty,  by  his  brother  physicians,  and,  of 
course,  a man  of  consequence.  The  comforts 
of  life  gradually  increased,  though  they  did 
not  lose  sight  of  the  principle  with  which  - 
they  set  out,  of  living  within  their  means. 
The  close  of  every  year  left  them  a small 
overplus,  which  was  scrupulously  invested  for 
caj)ital. 

We  fear  there  are  few  who  sincerely  repeat 
‘ Give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches.’ 

This  was  the  situation  to  which  Frank  had 
attained.  Blest  with  health,  a promising  fami- 
ly, respected  as  a physician,  and  cherished  as 
a friend  ; with  the  wife  of  his  youth,  the  partner 
and  lightener  of  his  cares, — it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  little  more  to  desire.  We  talk  of  the 


THE  MEANS. 


43 


blessing  of  an  amiable  disposition  ; — ^what  is  it 
but  the  serenity  of  a mind  at  peace  with 
itself, — of  a mind  that  is  contented  with  its 
own  lot,  and  which  covets  not  another’s ! 
They  sometimes  made  a morning  call  at  the 
houses  of  the  rich  and  fashionable ; but  Jane 
looked  at  the  splendid  apartments  with  vacant 
admiration.  It  never  for  a moment  entered 
her  head  that  she  should  like  such  herself. 
She  returned  home  to  take  her  seat  by  the  side 
of  the  cradle,  to  caress  one  child,  and  provide 
for  the  wants  of  another,  with  a feeling  that, 
nobody  was  so  rich  as  herself. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  dwell  longer  on  this 
period  of  Dr.  Fulton’s  life.  It  was  one  of 
honest  independence.  Their  pleasures  were 
home  pleasures, — the  purest  and  the  most  satis- 
fictory  that  this  world  affords.  We  cannot 
i)Lit  admit  that  they  might  have  been  elevated 
and  increased  b}^  deeper  and  more  fervent 
principle.  Nature  had  been  bountiful  in 
giv'ing  them  kind  and  gentle  dispositions,  and 
generous  emotions ; — ^but  the  bark,  with  its 
swelling  saOs  and  gay  streamers,  that  moves  so 
gallantly  over  the  rippling  waters,  struggles 


44 


LIVING  WITHIN 


feebly  against  the  rushing  wind  and  foaming 
wave.  Prosperous  as  Frank  might  be  con- 
sidered, he  liad  attained  no  success  beyond 
wliat  every  industrious,  capable  young  man 
may  attain,  wbo,  from  his  first  setting  out  in 
life,  scrupulously  limits  his  expenses  within  his 
means.  This  is,  in  fact,  to  be  his  text-book 
and  his  aegis.  Not  what  others  do, — not  what 
seems  necessary  and  fitting  to  his  station  in 
life, — but  wbat  he,  who  knows  his  own  affairs, 
can  decide  is  in  reality  fitting.  Shall  we,  who 
so  much  prize  our  independence,  give  up,  what, 
in  a political  view  alone,  is  dross,  compared  to 
independence  of  character  and  habits  ? Shall 
we,  who  can  call  master  spirits  from  every 
portion  of  our  land,  to  attest  to  the  hard- 
earned  victory  of  freedom  and  independence, 
give  up  the  glorious  prize,  and  suffer  our  minds 
to  be  subjugated  by  foreign  luxuries  and 
habits?  Yet  it  is  even  so;  they  are  fast  in- 
vading our  land ; they  have  already  taken  pos- 
session of  our  sea-ports,  and  are  hastening 
towards  the  interior.  Well  may  British  travel- 
lers scoff,  when  they  come  amongst  us, 
and  see  our  own  native  Americans  adopt- 


THE  MEANS. 


45 


ing  the  most  frivolous  parts  of  civilized  life, — 
its  feathers  and  gewgaws, — our  habits  and 
customs,  made  up  of  awkward  imitations  of 
English  and  French;  our  weak  attempts  at 
aristocracy ; our  late  hours  of  visiting,  for 
which  no  possible  reason  can  be  assigned,  but 
that  they  do  so  in  ■ Europe  ! Let  us  rather, 
with  true  independence,  adopt  the  good  of 
every  nation, — their  arts  and  improvements, — 
their  noble  and  liberal  institutions, — tliek  liter- 
ature,— and  the  grace  and  real  refinement  of 
their  manners ; but  let  us  strive  to  retain  our 
simplicity,  our  sense  of  what  is  consistent  with 
our  own  glorious  calling,  and  above  all,  the 
honesty  and  wisdom  of  living  within  our  in- 
come, whatever  it  may  be.  This  is  our 
true  standard.  Let  those  who  can  afford  it, 
consult  their  own  taste  in  living.  If  they  pre-^ 
fer  elegance  of  furniture,  who  has  a right  to 
gainsay  it  ? But  let  us  not  all  aim  at  the 
same  luxury.  Perhaps  it  is  this  consciousness 
of  unsuccessful  imitation,  that  has  given  a 
color  to  the  charge  made  against  us,  by  the 
English,  of  undue  irritability.  Truly,  there  is 
nothing  , more  likely  to  produce  it.  Let  us 


46 


LIVING  WITHIN 


pursue  our  path,  witli  a firm  and  steadfast  pur- 
pose, as  did  our  fathers  of  the  Revolution,  and 
we  shall  little  rerrard  those  who,  after  receivin<j: 
our  hospitality,  retire  to  a distance,  and  pelt 
us  with  rubbish. 

Whether  the  following  extract  from  a letter 
written  by  one  of  the  primitive  and  respectable 
members  of  our  government,  Judge  Wingate, 
has  been  published,  I do  not  know ; but  it 
bears  honorable  testimony  of  the  simplicity  of 
Washington’s  first  public  dinner,  and  is  copied 
verbatim  from  the  original  letter. 

‘ I was  a member  of  Congress  when  Presi- 
dent Washington  was  inaugurated  in  his  office, 
and  at  the  first  public  dinner  he  gave.  The 
President,  the  Vice  President,  the  foreign 
ministers,  the  heads  of  department  of  gov- 
ernment, the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, and  the  Senators  from  New  Hamp- 
shire, and  the  Senators  from  Georgia, — being 
the  two  States  from  the  northern  and  southern 
extremities  of  the  Union, — made  the  company 
at  the  table.  It  was  the  least  showy  dinner 
that  I ever  saw  at  the  President’s  table,  and 
the  company  was  not  large.  The  President 
made  his  whole  dinner  on  a boiled  leg  of 


THE  MEANS. 


47 


mutton.  It  was  his  usual  practice  to  eat  of 
but  one  dish.  As  there  was  no  chaplain 
present,  the  President  himself  said  a very- 
short  grace  as  he  was  sitting  down.  After  the 
dinner  and  dessert  were  finished,  one  glass  of 
wine  was  passed  round  the  table,  and  no  toast. 
The  President  arose,  and  all  the  company,  of 
course,  and  retired  to  the  drawing  room,  from 
which  the  guests  departed,  as  every  one  chose, 
without  ceremony.’ 

We  hope  this  digression  will  be  excused,  for 
the  sake  of  the  honest  independence  of  our 
purpose.  Hitherto  Dr.  Fulton  had  done  wliat 
every  other  man  may  do,  with  health,  capacity 
and  industry.  Without  a symptom  of  quackery, 
he  had  a courteous  manner  of  listening  to  the 
complaints  of  his  patients,  and  a sympathy 
which  arose  from  kind  feeling.  No  one  could 
appreciate  this  gentleness  more  highly  than 
foor  rich  Mr.  Harrington,  who  had  been 
laughed  at  by  his  enemies,  scolded  by  hi? 
friends,  blistered  by  one  physician,  dieted  h} 
a second,  and  steamed  by  a third,  till  he  was 
an  epitome  of  human  hypochondriacism.  F rank 
soon  saw  that  his  case  was  an  incurable  one, 
and  sought  only  to  soothe  and  alleviate  his 


48  LIVING  WITHIN  THE  MEANS. 

sufferings.  Perhaps  Mr.  Harrington  learned  to 
appreciate  some  of  the  blessings  of  his  own 
affluence,  by  witnessing  the  exertions  that 
Frank  and  Jane  wei’e  obliged  to  make.  At 
any  rate,  he  entertained  much  respect  and 
regard  for  them,  and  was  often  heard  to  say 
there  was  more  happiness  in  their  ‘ little  bird’s 
nest,’  than  in  a palace.  At  length,  worn  out 
by  nervous  disease,  his  emaciated  fiame  found 
its  refuge  in  its  mother  earth,  and  he  quietly 
slept  with  his  fathers.  After  his  death,  it  was 
found  that  he  had  bequeathed  to  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Fulton,  ‘ as  a mark  of  his  regard,  five  thousand 
dollars.’  This  sum  was  immediately  invested 
as  capital,  and  both  resolutely  declared  that 
they  would  consider  the  principal  a sacred 
deposit,  and  not  encroach  upon  it. 

We  have  alluded  to  the  increase  of  their 
family.  The  ‘little  bird’s  nest’  had  become 
quite  too  small  for  the  number  of  its  inhabit- 
ants. Before  Mr.  Harrington’s  legacy,  they 
had  determined  to  take  another  house.  Per- 
haps the  bequest  might  influence  them  in 
getting  one  in  a more  agreeable  part  of  the 
city,  though  they  only  gave  as  a reason,  the 
health  and  advantage  of  their  children. 


THREE 


EXPERIMENTS  OF  LIVING. 


PART  II. 

LIVING  UP  TO  THE  MEANS. 


5 


UP  TO  THE  MEANS. 


C0UI.D  Frank  and  Jane  have  foreseen  their 
present  degree  of  affluence,  when  they  fii'st 
set  out  in  life,  they  would  have  considered  it 
little  less  than  a mii~dcle.  But,  like  every  thing 
else  that  is  gradually  attained,  it  now  excited 
no  wonder  in  their  minds.  There  was  still  a 
striking  simplicity  in  Jane’s  manners  and  ap- 
pearance, a consciousness  of  happiness,  and  a 
refinement  of  feeling,  that  intercourse  with  the 
world  too  often  blunts.  When  her  children 
were  fairly  in  bed,  and  the  domestic  duties  of 
the  day  over, — when  her  husband  laid  aside 
his  day-book  and  leger, — when  the  fire  burnt 
bright,  and  her  little  work-table  stood  by  her 
side, — when  Frank  ventured  to  'pull  off  his 
boots,  and  lay  half  reclined  on  the  sofa,  then 
came  the  hour  of  conversation.  Then  Jane 


52 


LIVING  UP 


loved  to  talk  over  the  past  and  the  present, 
and  sum  up  their  stores  of  happiness.  Some- 
times she  requested  her  husband  to  read  aloud ; 
but  he  never  got  through  a page,  without  her 
interrupting  him,  to  point  out  sometliing  con- 
genial, or  something  in  contrast  with  their  sit- 
uation ; and  the  book  was  soon  thrown  aside, 
as  far  less  interesting  than  their  own  conversa- 
tion. Perhaps  there  was  a little  too  much  of 
egotism,  and  a little  too  much  of  vanity,  in  all 
this ; but  they  were  in  the  habit  of  thinking 
aloud  to  each  other. 

‘ I do  positively  believe,’  said  Jane,  ‘ we  are 
the  happiest  people  in  the  world.  I can  say, 
with  truth,  I have  scarcely  a wish  ungratified. 
I am  sure  I envy  nobody.’ 

‘ Not  even  your  eai’ly  friend,  Susan  Colby  ? ’ 

‘ How  can  you  always  bring  that  up,  F rank  ? 
To  be  sure,  I did  feel  a little  vexed,  when  I 
accidentally  met  her,  all  dressed  out,  and  she 
asked  me  to  go  to  her  husband’s  English  goods 
store  with  her.  I knew  that  Mr.  Colby  had 
set  out  as  we  did,  with  little  or  nothing,  and 
had  become  affluent,  while  we  were  struggling 
for  a living.  I confess,  I did  wish  our  ships 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


53 


would  arrive,  and  that  I could,  like  her,  step 
into  my  husband’s  store,  and  order  the  shop- 
hoy  to  measure  me  off  a costly  dress.’ 

‘ O yes,  I remember  the  morning  very  well,’ 
said  Frank,  laughing.  ‘ You  certainly  came 
home  quite  out  of  humor,  and  cast  most  indig- 
nant glances  at  my  gallipots  and  pill-boxes.’ 

‘ You  make  the  most  of  that  business,’  said 
Jane  ; ‘ the  truth  is,  I never  but  once  felt  the 
humiliation  of  poverty,  and  that  was  when  I 
went  to  beg  cold  meat  and  broken  bread  of 
our  landlady  for  poor  Martha’s  half-starved 
children.’ 

‘ I never  remember  feeling  desperately  poor 
but  once,’  said  Frank,  ‘ and  that  was  when  1 paid 
our  first  quarter’s  rent,  and  had  but  three  and 
ninepence  in  my  pocket,  to  pay  the  second.’ 

It  v'as  by  reminiscences  like  these,  that  their 
present  enjoyment  was  heightened.  Uncle 
Joshua  often  called  on  his  young  relatives ; 
but  their  removal  had  increased  the  distance  ; 
and  he  began  to  feel  the  infirmities  of  advanc- 
ing life.  Jane  had  observed,  that  he  often 
pressed  his  hand  upon  his  heart, — and  to  her 
inquiries,  he  said,  ‘ a pain, — but  it  is  gone.’ 


54 


LIVING  UP 


The  house  they  rented  was  larger  than  they 
thought  necessary  ; yet  as  the  rent  was  rea- 
sonable, and  the  situation  good,  they  concluded 
it  was  best  to  take  it.  The  whole  of  it  need 
not  be  furnished.  A large  room  might  be  left 
for  the  children’s  play-room,  and  another  over 
it  for  a store-room.  A little  experience,  how- 
ever, convinced  them,  that  they  wanted  all  of  it ; 
and,  as  Jane  said,  ‘ they  could  furnish  these 
two  I'ooms  from  the  interest  of  their  legacy.’ 

They  soon  found  that  the  size  of  the  house 
required  an  additional  domestic.  Indeed  they 
seemed  to  have  attained  new  importance  by 
its  size  and  situation.  Mrs.  Hart,  on  this  oc- 
casion, acknowledged  Jane  as  an  acquaintance, 
and  made  a morning  visit,  sporting  her  camel’s 
hair  shawl,  which,  to  use  her  own  phrase, 
‘ looked  still  fresh  and  lovely.’  She  had  never 
remembered  to  reimburse  Jane  for  her  sub- 
scription. 

It  was  really  astonishing,  how  fast  the  Ful- 
tons  became  known.  People  in  the  first  so- 
ciety, as  it  is  termed,  began  to  ask  who  they 
were  ? Those  who  called,  professed  them- 
selves delighted  with  Jane’s  ‘sweet,  humble 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


55 


manner,’  and  determined  to  ‘ patronize  her.’ 
As  yet,  however,  they  had  only  reached  the 
magic  circle  of  genteel  society ; they  had  not 
stepped  over  it.  They  had  no  heart-burnings 
when  their  opposite  neighbor  gave  a splendid 
bail,  and  did  not  invite  them  ; and  yet,  .Jane 
said,  ‘ on  her  children’s  account,  she  was  glad 
to  have  a different  circle  of  friends  fi'om  what 
she  formerly  had.  The  Watsons,  her  uncle’s 
oracles,  were  very  clever  people,  but  not  such 
as  she  wished  her  children  to  be  intimate  with. 
It  is  tme,  Mrs.  Watson  never  visited,  and  the 
acquaintance  had  not  been  kept  up  after  her 
marriage  ; but  her  uncle  thought  all  the  world 
of  them, — which,  she  confessed,  she  did  not. 

Poor  Jane  ! The  enemy  had  begun  to  sow 
his  tares ; and  pride  and  ambition  were  spring- 
ing up  in  her  heart.  Dr.  Fulton  undoubtedly 
derived  some  advantage  from  their  change  of 
residence, — and,  while  Jane  exulted  for  her 
children,  he  exulted  for  his  profession  ; his  pa- 
tients were  more  able  to  pay,  and  he  began  to 
have  a run  among  the  opulent. 

]\Ir.  Bradish,  with  his  millions,  had  the  good 
fortune,  for  Frank,  to  be  taken  dangerously'  ill 


56 


LIV  ING  UP 


of  a fever,  when  Dr.  R.  was  absent ; and  Dr. 
Fulton  was  sent  for.  From  this  time,  he  be- 
came one  of  their  family  physicians. 

With  all  this  increase  of  consequence,  their 
habits  were  much  the  same.  The  happiness 
and  improvement  of  the  children  was  the  great 
object.  If  they  were  extravagant,  it  was  in 
schools.  Even  Mr.  Bradish  could  not  be 
more  particular  than  Dr.  Fulton,  in  the  excel- 
lence of  the  schools  to  which  he  sent  his  chil- 
dren. Accordingly,  they  were  sent  to  those 
which  had  the  highest  reputation, — as  their  im- 
provement was  the  first  wish  of  their  parents. 
The  neighborhood  into  which  they  had  moved 
was  a one  ; and  our  city  has  not 

yet  attained  the  happy  eminence  of  not  know- 
ing  who  lives  in  the  same  block  of  buildings 

O 

M'ith  us.  Most  of  these  left  a card  ; and  now 
and  tlien  a wandering  invitation  reached  them, 
for  a ball ; but  it  was  subject  to  no  discussion. 
Frank  wrote  a regret,  when  a leisure  moment 
came  ; — for  Jane  was  little  in  the  habit  of 
using  her  pen  ; and  to  those  who  are  not,  even 
answering  a note  is  a work  of  magnitude. 
Their  next  door  neighbors  were  the  Reeds, — 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


57 


and  Mrs.  Reed  and  Jane  soon  became  familiar 
friends.  It  was  the  fii’st  really  stylish  family 
into  which  Jane  had  become  initiated.  It 
certainly  opened  a new  world  to  her.  She 
saw  forms  and  ceremonies  used,  of  which  she 
had  no  conception.  She  leamt  that  napkins 
and  silver  forks  were  essential  to  her  dinner 
table, — that  Mrs.  Reed  could  not  use  a steel 
fork ; — consequently,  other  people  could  not. 
In  these  and  various  other  things,  Jane  became 
an  apt  scholar.  The  consequence  was,  that 
their  expenses  gradually  increased.  Yet  there 
were  luxuries  for  which  Jane  could  only  sigh  ; 
for  she  felt  that  they  were  far  heyond  her ; — for 
instance,  Brussels  carpets  and  pier-glasses,  and, 
„ above  all,  a centre-lamp. 

•'  How  rich  the  Reeds  must  be  ! ’ said  she, 
one  evening,  when  they  returned  from  a visit 
they  had  been  making  there. 

‘ You  are  mistaken,’  said  Frank ; ‘ Mr 
Reed’s  income  is  but  very  little  more  than 
ours.’ 

‘ Not  more  than  ours  ? ’ said  Jane  ; then  how 
can  he  afford  to  furnish  his  house  so  elegantly  ? ’ 

‘ I protest  I don’t  know,’  said  Frank;  ‘ but 


58 


LIVING  UP 


he  says  his  wife  is  an  excellent  manager.  I 
wish,  Jane,  you  would  find  out  how  they  con- 
trive the  matter,  and  perhaps  we  can  take  a 
leaf  out  of  their  book.’ 

Mrs.  Reed  had  all  the  little  vanity  of  being 
able  to  make  a show  on  small  means,  and  when 
Jane  humbly  asked  advice  and  direction,  will- 
ingly  granted  it. 

‘ In  the  first  place,’  said  she,  ‘ I set  it  down 
as  a rule,  from  the  first,  that  the  only  way  we 
could  get  forward  in  the  world,  was  to  live  in 
genteel  style,  and  put  the  best  foot  foremost. 
You  would  be  astonished,  between  ourselves,  to 
know  how  little  we  have  to  spend  ; but  then, 
I have  a great  deal  of  contrivance.  What 
wages  do  you  give  your  servants  ? ’ 

To  Jane’s  information,  she  replied, 

‘ You  give  too  much.  By  the  by,  I can 
recommend  an  excellent  seamstress  to  you, 
who  will  sew  for  twelve  cents  a day.  But, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Fulton,  you  must  not  wear  that 
shabby  bonnet ; and,  excuse  me,  you  do  want 
a new  pelisse  tremendously.  It  really  is  not 
doing  justice  to  your  husband,  when  he  has 
such  a mn  of  business,  and  such  a handsome 
income,  to  dress  in  this  manner.’ 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


59 


‘ I do  not  know  how  it  is,’  said  Jane ; ‘ but 
we  spend  a great  deal  more  than  we  used  to ; 
we  send  our  children  to  expensive  schools.’ 

‘ That  is  entirely  a mistake.  I do  n’t  send 
mine  to  any  ; it  is  my  system.  They  get  such 
vulgar  habits,  associating  with  the  lower  class- 
es ! I educate  them  myself.’ 

‘ But  do  they  learn  as  well  as  at  school  ? ’ 

‘ How  can  a woman  of  your  sense  ask  that 
question  ? As  if  a mother  could  not  teach  her 
children  better  than  strangers  ! Take  my  ad- 
vice, and  save  all  the  money  you  are  paying 
for  them  ; it  is  just  throwing  it  away.  Edu- 
cate them  yourself.  Rousseau  approves  of  it.’ 
‘"But  you  are  out  a good  deal ; who  instructs 
them  while  you  are  gone  ? ’ 

‘ I leave  them  lessons,  and  they  are  recited  to 
the  chamber-maid.  When  Fanny  is  sixteen, 
I intend  she  shall  go  to  one  of  these  faahion- 
able  schools,  just  for  the  name  of  it.’ 

‘ Really,’  said  Jane,  ‘ I could  not  undertake 
to  instruct  my  children.  My  own  education 
was  not  thorough  enough.’ 

‘ Nonsense ! You  can  read,  and  that  is  all 
that  is  necessary.  What  do  those  people  do, 


60 


LIVING  UP 


who  keep  such  expensive  schools  ? They  in- 
struct from  books  ; and  you  can  do  the  same.’ 

Though  Jane  did  not  entirely  adopt  IMrs. 
Reed’s  ideas,  she  thought,  with  her,  that  they 
were  paying  an  enormous  sum  for  schools  ; 
and  both  she  and  Frank  agreed,  as  demands 
for  money  increased,  that  they  might  just  as 
well  go  to  cheaper  schools.  The  penalties  of 
living  beyond  the  means,  most  generally  fall 
upon  the  children  of  the  family  ; not  that  pa- 
rents love  them  less  than  other  appurtenances, 
but  because  deficiencies  here  are  more  easily 
kept  out  of  sight.  We  speak  not  of  dress  or 
food,  but  of  education. 

Many  declaim  on  the  expense  of  schools, 
who  forget  that  teachers  are  qualified,  by  de- 
voting the  best  part  of  their  lives  to  the  sub-, 
ject  ; — that  the  education  of  children  cannot 
be  taken  up,  like  hair-dressing,  merely  for  a 
living  ; but  that,  to  be  successful,  it  must  be 
founded  upon  higher  and  nobler  motives,  and 
deserves  a compensation  equivalent  to  the 
preparation  and  importance  of  the  object. 
IMrs.  Reed  thought  otheiwise,  when  she  found 
how  little  trouble  it  was  to  educate  her  chil- 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


61 


dren,  with  her  chamber-maid  for  an  assistant. 
Her  indignation  rose  proportionably  against 
expensive  schools,  and  she  called  the  heads  of 
them  nothing  but  pickpockets,  and  exulted  at 
her  own  wisdom  in  keeping  clear  of  them. 
Those  who  saw  not  the  interior,  spoke  of  her 
as  a most  wonderful  woman,  ‘ amidst  all  her 
visiting  and  occupations,  to  find  time  to  edu- 
cate her  children.’ 

Perhaps  there  is  no  class  of  men  less  liable 
to  extravagance  than  physicians.  Their  gains 
are  slow  and  laborious,  and  they  toil  for  daily 
bread  from  hour  to  hour.  No  large  sum  comies 
in,  like  a lawyer’s  fee,  for  a few  words  of  ad- 
vice ; and  no  lucky  speculations  on  coffee, 
indigo,  or  cotton,  raise  him,  like  a merchant, 
fi’onn  moderate  means  to  sudden  affluence.  But 
the  seeds  of  luxury  and  extravagance  may  be 
scattered  every  where ; and  even  the  very 
security  that  Frank  felt  in  his  profession,  and 
in  his  own  moderate  desires,  had,  perhaps, 
made  him  less  vigilant. 

Though  Jane  did  not  entirely  trust  to  Mrs. 
Reed’s  opinions  as  to  teachers  and  schools,  on 
many  other  subjects  she  yielded  implicit  defer- 
6 


62 


LIVING  UP 


ence.  The  consequence  was,  that,  from  a 
simple  dressed  voman,  she  soon  became  a 
fashionable  lady,  bonneted  and  blonded  u-Ja- 
mode,  and,  even  to  her  own  surprise,  a fine, 
stylish  looking  woman.  Frank,  who  had  hith- 
erto only  appreciated  his  wife’s  A'irtues  and 
amiable  qualities,  began  now  to  pride  himself 
on  her  elegance.  The  moment  this  sort  of 
pride  takes  possession  of  a husband,  he  delights 
to  hang  his  idol  with  finery  and  trinkets.  How 
much  of  honest,  faithful  affection  and  esteem 
mingles*,  with  this  tribute,  depends  on  the  char- 
acter ; in  the  present  instance,  thei’e  was  an 
uncommon  degree  of  affection.  For  many 
years,  they  had  been  all  the  world  to  each 
other, — had  struggled  through  a degree  of 
penury, — had  enjoyed  comparative  affluence 
meekly  and  thankfully, — and  even  now,  Jane 
sometimes  doubted  whether  their  enlarged  in- 
come had  increased  their  happiness.  She 
still,  however,  continued  her  charities ; and 
one  day,  when  she  applied  to  her  husband  for 
a sum  to  give  away,  was  surprised,  when  he 
replied,  ‘ Really,  Jane,  I cannot  afford  such 
a donation.’ 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


63 


‘ Not  afford  it ! ’ exclaimed  she  ; ‘ why,  it  is 
no  more  than  we  have  given  for  several  years.’ 

‘ But  our  expenses  have  greatly  increased.’ 

‘And  so  has  our  income,’  said  Jane,  tri- 
umphantly. 

Frank  looked  thoughtful,  and  shook  his 
head. 

‘ Well,’  said  Jane,  cheerfully,  ‘we  have  been 
talking  about  getting  a centre-table  ; now  sup- 
pose we  give  that  up,  and  devote  the  money  to 
cliarity.’ 

‘ As  you  please,’  said  Frank,  coldly. 

Jane  was  silent  for  a moment,  and  then  said, 

‘ No,  dear ; it  is  not  as  I please,  but  as  you 
please.’ 

‘ A centre-table  was  your  own  proposal,’ 
said  Frank. 

‘ 1 know  it ; but  I should  not  have  thought 
of  it,  if  Mrs.  Reed  had  not  said  it  was  neces- 
sary.’ 

‘ JMrs.  Reed  seems  to  have  become  your 
oracle,  with  all  her  folly.  Then  it  was  only 
because  she  said  so,  that  we  were  to  have  a 
centre- table  ? ’ 

‘ No,  Franjr,  not  entirely ; I thought  it 


64 


LIVING  UP 


would  be  very  convenient ; and  then  it  gives 
a room  such  a sociable  look ; besides,  as  we 
bad  a centre-lamp  ! ’ 

‘ I do  n’t  see  how  that  helps  your  argument ; 
the  table  do  n’t  hang  to  the  lamp,  does  it  ? ’ 

‘ No  ; and  I begin  to  think  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence. Indeed,  I should  never  have  thought 
of  it,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mrs.  Reed.’ 

‘ Mrs.  Reed  again  ! ’ exclaimed  Prank,  pee- 
vishly ; ‘ I really  think  that  woman’s  acquaint- 
ance is  a curse.’ 

Jane  made  no  reply,  but  her  eyes  filled  with 
teais. 

‘ Since  you  are  so  unwilling  to  give  up  either 
the  centre-table  or  your  donation,  you  shall 
have  both,’  said  Frank  ; ‘ so  pray  go  and  select 
one  with  your  friend.’’ 

‘ Can  you  think  me  so  unreasonable  ? ’ re- 
plied Jane.  There  was  a pathos  in  her  voice 
that  restored  her  husband  to  his  good  nature. 

‘ Unreasonable  ? no,  Jane,  I never  thought 
you  so  for  a moment ; but  I do  think  Mrs. 
Reed  is  very  officious.’ 

‘ You  must  remember,’  said  Jane,  ingenu- 
ously, ‘ how  often  I apply  to  her  for  informa- 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


65 


tion  about  things  of  which  I am  as  ignorant  as 
a cliild.  When  I ask  you,  you  say,  “ Ask 
Mrs.  Reed  ; she  knows  all  about  it.”  It  is  a 
knowledge  she  has  about  what  I have  not,  that 
gives  her  any  influence  with  me,  or  makes  her 
my  oracle.^ 

‘ You  could  not  think  I was  serious  when  I 
called  her  your  oracle  I was  merely  jesting.’ 

‘ Let  me  ask  you,  then,’  said  Jane,  affection- 
ately, ‘not  to  jest  with  me  any  more.  You 
have  done  it  often  lately,  and  it  makes  me  very 
unhappy.’ 

‘ Nonsense ! It  gives  a piquancy  to  do- 
mestic tcte-a-tetes,  which  are  apt  to  be  a little 
dull.’ 

‘ We  did  not  use  to  find  them  so.’ 

‘ Well,  Jane,  you  must  remember  that  now 
my  time  and  thoughts  are  constantly  occupied  ; 
and  besides  that,  as  we  have  only  an  income 
sufficient  for  our  own  expenses,  it  is  a little 
vexatious,  to  have  you  ask  me  for  money  to 
give  away.  All  our  expenses  are  gi'eatly  in- 
creased.’ 

‘ Would  it  not  be  better  to  tiy  to  reduce 
6* 


66 


LIVING  UP 


them  ? My  uncle  brought  me  up  with  a hor- 
ror of  getting  into  debt.’ 

‘ T liave  the  same  feeling,  Jane  ; and  it  is 
possible  embarrassment,  not  actual,  that  troubles 
me,  and  makes  me  sometimes  a little  petulant.’ 

‘ Ah,’  said  Jane,  ‘that  is  the  history  of  your 
jesting.’ 

Frank  laughed. 

‘ Let  us  give  up  the  centre-table,’  said  Jane. 

‘ No  ; I think  we  do  want  that.  As  to  the 
donation,  it  does  not  appear  to  me  that  we  are 
called  upon  to  give  money.  If  there  is  one 
class  of  men  that  do  more  than  another  for  the 
poor,  it  is  ph}^sicians.  I am  sure  I should  be 
worth  an  independent  fortune,  if  I had  been 
paid  for  all  my  attendance  on  the  poor.’ 

‘ Do  you  think,  then,  what  you  have  done 
exempts  you  from  doing  ? ’ 

‘ Certainly  not.  I am  willing  still  to  go 
when  1 arn  sent  for.  And  if  I give  them  a 
portion  of  time  and  labor,  I do  my  part.’ 

‘ It  seems  to  me,’  said  Jane,  ‘ that  every 
body  may  reason  in  the  same  way.  The 
clergyman  may  say,  if  he  gives  his  spiritual 
advice  and  instruction,  he  has  done  enough. 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


67 


Even  a lawyer  may  be  willing  to  give  his  pro- 
fessional services  ; and  if  the  poor  do  not  want 
them,  he  is  not  the  less  charitable.  I do  n’t 
see  but  their  main  assistance  must  come  from 
butchers  and  bakers.’ 

‘ Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  them  if  they 
had  none.' 

‘ My  dear  Frank,  do  n’t  begin  to  jest  again,’ 
said  Jane,  half  afraid  of  what  would  next 
come.  ‘ I have  not  answered  Mrs.  Reed’s 
invitation  for  this  evening;  therefore,  we  will 
decline  it.’ 

‘ Decline  it ! ’ replied  Frank.  ‘ Why  should 
we  ? ’ 

‘ Had  we  not  better  break  off  our  acquaint- 
ance ? You  said  if  was  a curse.’ 

‘ You  are  in  a strange  humor,  Jane,  this 
morning.  I should  be  extremely  sorry  that 
you  should  do  any  thing  so  rude.  Mrs.  Reed 
certainly  has  knowledge  that  is  valuable  to  us. 
I do  n’t  wish  you  to  give  up  your  intercourse 
with  her.  But  I beg  you  always  to  exert 
your  own  excellent  judgment,  and  not  let  her 
have  any  influence  over  your  mind,  without 
first  weighing  the  subject.’ 


68 


LIVING  UP 


As  if  we  could  have  constant  intercourse 
with  any  one,  without  being  influenced  hy 
their  habits  and  opinions  ! Frank  had  set 
Jane  a task  beyond  her  strength.  The  centre- 
table  was  purchased,  and  then  an  elegant  cen- 
tre-v&se. 

Bui  Mrs.  Reed  was  not  the  only  fashionable 
lady  t’’at  had  taken  up  Jane.  There  was 
Mrs.  Bradish,  whose  husband  was  said  to  be 
worth  a luillion,  and  had  a right  to  spend  what 
he  pleased.  Nothing  could  he  more  flattering 
than  her  attentions.  It  would  seem  as  if 
wealth  diffused  some  of  its  golden  glare  among 
the  lookers-on.  Else,  why  is  so  much  defer- 
ence paid  to  it  ? In  vain  w'e  say,  philosophi- 
cally, it  is  dross  ; or  experimentally,  it  benefits 
not  us.  Still,  the  rich  have  their  humble  imi- 
tators, and  mammon  its  worshippers.  Trank 
became  the  companion  of  the  tvealthy,  and  it 
was  necessary  that  he  should  not  disgrace  his 
intimates  by  a penurious  style  of  living.  He 
and  Jane  were  invited  to  dinners  and  soirees. 
Such  constant  invitations  must  be  returned  ; 
and  they  began  to  make  entertainments. 
Hitherto,  the  little  Misses  Fultons  had  kept  their 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


69 


seats  at  the  dinner-table ; but  their  dinner  was 
at  a most  inconvenient  hour  to  accommodate 
them.  It  interfered  with  morning  calls  ; and 
it  was  determined  the  children  should  dine 
wholly  in  the  nursery. 

Jane  thought  it  a singular  piece  of  good 
fortune,  that  she  should  be  taken  up  by  three 
such  friends  as  INIrs.  Reed,  Mrs.  Bradish  and 
Mrs.  Hart.  The  first  knew  every  thing  and 
every  body ; the  second  was  rich  enough  to 
make  ducks  and  drakes  of  her  money ; and 
the  last  was  the  mirror  of  fashion  and  dress. 
It  might  be  rationally  asked,  what  benefit  she 
derived  from  this  triple  alliance  ? But  it  was  a 
question  she  never  asked  herself. 

With  all  this,  however,  she  was  obliged 
unwillingly  to  feel  that  neitber  her  happiness 
nor  her  comfort  was  increased. 

As  the  appearance  of  property  had  become 
necessary,  economy  must  be  practised  some- 
where, to  bring  out  the  year.  This,  of  course, 
fell  upon  the  interior.  Jane  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  superintending  her  own  affairs,  and 
seeing  that  nothing  was  wasted,  and  nothing 
used  superfluously.  This  system,  while  it 


70 


LIVING  UP 


extended  to  each  and  to  all,  was  cheerfully 
received.  But  when  the  domestics  found  that 
the  luxuries  of  the  kitchen  were  not  propor- 
tionate to  the  parlor,  they  told  her  she  might 
‘ look  out  for  other  help.’  Those  mistresses  of 
families  who  have  ever  experienced  the  har- 
assing labor  of  keeping  up  a showy  appear- 
ance in  the  parlor,  with  strict  economy  in  the 
kitchen,  will  sympathize  with  poor  Jane  in  her 
arduous  task.  They  will  understand,  with 
what  reluctance  she  entered  its  precincts,  and 
how  often  she  was  driven  from  it  by  the  super- 
cilious looks  and  answers  of  the  lady  who 
ruled  the  roast.  All  these  difficulties  she 
encountered ; and  sometimes  looked  back, 
with  a sigh,  to  her  first  experiment  in  house- 
keeping, when,  with  her  woman  of  all  works, 
and  Martha’s  little  trirl,  everv  thino;  went 
smoothly  on,  in  harmony  and  confidence.  But 
this  was  a trifle,  compared  to  the  apparent 
cliange  in  her  husband’s  temjier.  From  frank- 
hearted,  open  confidence  in  all  around  him,  he 
began  to  be  tenacious  of  civility  ; — thought 
such  a one  looked  coldly  ; — it  must  be  because 
they  had  not  returned  their  call,  or  some  other 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


71 


reason  as  important.  Then  he  sometimes 
repeated  his  jests,  which  Jane  felt  were  sar- 
casms. 

‘ How  long  it  is/  said  Jane,  one  morning, 
‘ since  uncle  Joshua  has  been  here  ! ’ 

‘ I suppose,’  said  Frank,  ‘he  feels  an  awk- 
wardness on  account  of  our  different  rank  in 
life.’ 

‘ O,  no ; that  is  wholly  unlike  him.  Sup- 
pose we  send  and  ask  him  to  dine  to-day  ? ’ 

‘ Not  to-day.  I have  invited  Professor  R. 
and  Dr.  B.  You  know  they  are  both  intel- 
lectual men.  He  would  not  enjoy  his  dinner.’ 

‘Besides,’  said  Jane,  ‘when  he  comes,  we 
must  let  all  the  children  dine  at  the  table. 
We  will  ask  him  to-morrow,  and  appoint  dirl- 
ner  at  two.’ 

‘ With  all  my  heart,’  said  Frank,  as  he  went 
out  to  pay  a visit  to  the  market,  followed  by 
his  servant  with  the  market-basket. 

Jane  began  her  preparations  for  dinner. 
Her  constant  change  of  servants,  and  increas- 
ing trouble  with  them,  often  made  this  an  ar- 
duous task.  She  was  soon  in  the  midst  of 
glass  and  china ; and,  assisted  by  her  cham- 


72 


LIVING  UP 


ber-maicl,  began  to  lay  the  table.  They  had 
got  it  nearly  completed,  with  its  plates,  wine- 
glasses and  tumblers,  all  in  a row,  when  she 
was  alarmed  by  a loud  ring  at  the  door.  The 
chamber-maid  was  despatched,  with  strict  in- 
junctions to  let  nobody  in,  but  say  she  was  not 
at  home.  There  was  evidently  a parley,  and 
the  step  of  a person  was  heard  approaching. 
With  a sudden  feeling  of  mortihcation  at  being 
caught,  Jane  rushed  into  the  closet,  and  closed 
the  door.  The  sound  of  uncle  Joshua’s  voice 
struck  her  ear  as  he  entered. 

‘ Are  you  sure  she  is  not  at  home  ? ’ said  he 
to  the  girl. 

‘ O,  yes,  sir,  quite  sure.  I saw  her  put  on 
her  things  and  go  out.’ 

‘ How  long  has  she  been  gone  ? ’ 

‘Full  an  hour,’  said  the  girl,  who,  as  these 
kind  of  people  often  do,  overacted  her  part. 

‘Then,  probably,  she  will  be  back  soon, 
and  I will  wait  for  her.’ 

‘ O,  no,  sir ; she  said  she  should  not  be  back 
till  near  dinner  time.’ 

‘ Why,  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to 
have  a company  of  aldermen  to  dine.’ 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


73 


The  girl  answered,  in  a simpering  tone, 
‘ No,  sir ; only  two  or  three  friends.’ 

Jane,  during  this  conversation,  felt  a con- 
sternation that  disabled  her  from  acting  judi- 
ciously, which  would  have  been  to  have  come 
out  from  her  hiding-place,  and  tell  the  simple 
truth.  But  she  knew  her  uncle’s  straight  for- 
ward mind,  and  she  was  sure  he  would  not 
make  the  distinction  which  custom  and  fashion 
warrant,  of  not  at  home,  as  meaning  engaged. 
The  girl,  too,  had  so  positively  implicated  her 
in  a falsehood, — had  shown  so  completely  that 
she  understood  no  qualliication,  that  Jane  felt 
the  utmost  horror  at  being  detected.  She 
actually  looked  out  of  the  window,  to  see  if 
there  was  no  possibility  of  escape.  In  the 
mean  time,  uncle  Joshua  laid  down  his  hat 
and  cane,  seated  himself  by  the  open  window, 
and  asked  for  a glass  of  water. 

Jane,  at  length,  came  to  the  conclusion, 
that  she  had  better  remain  perfectly  quiet, — 
that  his  calls  were  never  very  long,  and  she 
would  send  for  him  the  next  day,  and  should 
escape  all  unpleasant  feeling.  To  her  dismay, 
however,  she  presently  heard  liim  call  for  tlie 
'7 


74 


LIVING  UP 


morning’s  paper.  She  knew  he  was  one  of 
those  inveterate  newspaper  readers,  that  go 
through  the  whole  ; and  she  tried  to  be  re- 
signed to  at  least  an  hour’s  imprisonment. 
Alas  ! what  a situation ! The  dinner  at  a 
stand,  the  marketing  would  be  back,  and 
ducks  and  geese  in  waiting ! At  length,  how- 
ever, uncle  Joshua  got  to  the  end  of  the  ever- 
lasting newspaper;  and,  as  he  folded  it  up, 
told  the  girl,  who  had  entered  the  room  every 
five  minutes,  to  say  to  his  niece,  that  ‘ he  was 
sorry  not  to  see  her,  but  could  not  wait  any 
longer.’  Then  turning  suddenly  upon  the 
closet  door,  he  grasped  the  handle. 

‘ Sir,  sir,’  exclaimed  the  girl,  ‘ that  is  the 
wrong  door.’ 

It  was  too  late.  He  had  turned  the  lock, 
and  the  door  came  open  ! There  stood  Jane 
in  one  corner,  not  pale  as  a lily,  but  the  color 
of  a full-blown  piony.  His  surprise,  for  a 
moment,  was  extreme.  But  he  was  not  slow 
of  comprehension ; and  the  truth  rushed  upon 
him,  greatly  exaggerated, — for  he  believed  it 
was  a contrivance  to  avoid  seeing  him.  He 
stood  silent,  with  his  eye  fixed  upon  her. 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


75 


‘ Dear  uncle,’  said  she,  ‘ I thought  it  was  a 
stranger.  I did  not  know  it  was  you,  when  I 
ran  into  the  closet.’ 

‘ Silence ! ’ said  he ; ‘ no  more  falsehoods. 
Begone ! ’ turning  to  the  chamber-maid.  ‘ And 
you  have  learned  that  poor,  ignorant  girl  to 
peril  her  soul  by  falsehoods  ! Jane,  Jane,  I 
have  loved  you  like  my  own  child  ; but  I shall 
trouble  you  no  more.  You  shall  not  be  obliged 
to  send  word  to  your  old  uncle,  that  you  are 
not  at  home.’  And  he  turned  to  go. 

‘ You  must  not  go,  my  dear,  dear  uncle,’ 
said  Jane,  throwing  her  arms  round  him.  ‘ You 
must  hear  my  explanation.’ 

‘ I tell  you  I will  not  be  the  cause  of  any 
more  falsehoods.’ 

‘ And  you  will  give  me  up  ! Your  sister’s 
only  child,  who  was  left  an  orphan  to  your 
care  ;-^whom  you  have  carried  in  your  arms, 
whom  you  have  held  upon  your  knee,  whom 
you  have  cherished  in  your  bosom,  when  there 
was  no  other  bosom  to  receive  her ! ’ 

‘ Then,’  said  the  old  man,  with  a faltering 
voice,  ‘ then,  you  were  my  comfort, — my  own 
true-hearted  Jane.  Then  I had  nothing  but 


76 


LIVING  UP 


you  to  love  ; and  now  I have  nothing, — noth- 
ing.’ And  he  threw  himself  upon  a chair, 
and  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes. 

‘ My  dear  uncle,  only  hear  me.  I told  the 
girl  to  say  that  I was  not  at  home  if  any  body 
called.’ 

‘ And  yet,  you  were  at  home  ! ’ said  he,  in- 
dignantly. 

‘But  every  body  says  so, — it  is  not  any 
falsehood.  It  only  means  that  they  are  not  at 
home  to  company.  It  is  understood.’ 

‘Understood  they  are  hid  in  the  closet?’ 
His  anger  evidently  began  to  yield,  for  he 
laughed  out.  ‘O,  Jane,  what  a ridiculous 
figure  you  cut,  when  I stumbled  upon  the 
wrong  door ! I am  glad  i did  it ; it  is  a good 
lesson  for  you.’ 

‘ It  is,  indeed,  uncle.  I promise  you,  I will 
never  say  I am  not  at  home  again  when  I am.’ 

‘ Cooped  up,’  continued  he,  again  laughing, 
‘ in  one  corner,  like  a mouse  in  a cheese  ; and 
there  you  had  been  shut  up  a whole  hour,  like 
a naughty  child.’ 

‘ I shall  blush  to  think  of  it  as  long  as  I 
five.’ 


T O THE  MEANS. 


77 


‘ And  so  you  ought,  to  tell  a downright 
falsehood ! ’ 

‘ Dear  uncle,  nobody  calls  it  a falsehood  ; it 
only  means  you  are  very  busy,  and  cannot  see 
company.’ 

‘ Then  why  not  say  so  at  once  ? But  the  girl 
said  you  were  out ; that  you  would  not  be 
home  till  near  dinner.’ 

‘ That  was  entirely  her  own  addition.  She 
had  no  right  to  say  so ; she  was  not  told  to  say 
any  thing  but  that  I was  not  at  home.’ 

‘ You  allow,  then,  that  she  told  an  untruth  ? ’ 

‘ Certainly,  I do.’ 

‘ Now  tell  me,  Jane,  if  you  think  she  thought 
it  more  of  an  untruth  to  say  you  were  out,  than 
that  you  were  not  at  home.  It  is  all  the  same 
thing.’ 

Jane  found  it  was  in  vain  to  try  to  convince 
her  uncle,  and  she  only  hung  upon  him  and 
begged  of  him  to  love  her  as  he  used  to  do. 
The  old  man  could  not  long  retain  his  resent- 
ment, and  he  said,  with  a seiious  air,  ‘ I will- 
ingly forgive  you  for  your  offence  to  me ; but 
I am  no  priest.  I cannot  forgive  your  telling  a 
falsehood.  You  must  ask  pardon  of  a higher 
power.’  7 * 


78 


LIVING  UF 


When  he  made  a motion  to  go,  Jane  entreat- 
ed him  to  stay  to  dinner.  ‘It  is  such  a long 
walk,’  '.aid  she,  ‘ you  must  not  go  ; we  were 
going  to  send  for  you  to-morrow.  I shall  not 
think  you  have  forgiven  me,  if  you  refuse.’ 

Uncle  Joshua  at  length  consented,  and  she 
lelt  as  if  a load  was  taken  from  her  heart, — for 
she  loved  him  afiectionately.  She  carried  him 
into  another  room,  got  him  all  the  newspapers 
she  could  collect,  and  went  cheerfully  on  with 
her  preparations. 

When  Frank  returned,  he  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  seeing  uncle  Joshua  ; for  however 
unfashionable  and  inelegant  he  might  deem 
him,  he  could  not  refuse  him  his  tribute  of 
respect.  The  guests  were  men  of  good  sense 
aau  intelligence.  They  were  struck  with  the 
independence  and  originality  of  uncle  .Joshua’s 
cl'iaracter.  He  conversed  without  timidity  or 
affectation,  and  felt  no  mortification  at  not 
knowing  what  never  came  within  the  sphere 
of  his  observation.  All  this  Jane  would  have 
highly  enjoyed,  could  she  have  spared  any  time 
from  her  dinner.  The  servant  was  a raw  country 
lad,  who  required  being  told  w hen  to  take  a plate 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


79 


and  where  to  put  one.  The  boiled  turkey  was 
underdone,  and  the  ducks  overdone ; the 
oyster-sauce  spoilt  before  it  reached  the  table  ; 
and  by  the  time  dinner  was  over,  she  looked 
as  red  as  if  she  had  been  cooking  it  herself. 
When  Jane  rose  to  leave  the  table,  her  uncle 
said  he  would  go  with  her  to  see  the  children. 
They  repaired  to  the  nuisery,  found  them  with 
empty  plates,  greased  to  the  ears,  loudly  vocif- 
erating for  Sally,  the  chamber-maid,  who  was 
assisting  below,  to  bring  them  more  dinner. 
Jane  at  last  succeeded  in  quieting  them,  and 
told  her  uncle  that  the  nursery-maid  left  them 
the  day  before.  The  blisses  Fultons,  with  one 
voice,  said,  ‘ Hurra  ! it  was  a good  day  for  them  ; 
for  she  was  so  cross  they  hated  her.’  After 
uncle  Joshua  had  made  his  visit  to  them,  he 
said,  ‘ Now  Jane,  I want  to  see  you  alone.’ 

Jane  led  the  way,  with  fearful  misgivings  ; 
for  she  saw  a shade  of  melancholy  on  his  coun- 
tenance. 

‘ My  dear,’  said  he,  ‘ sit  down  by  me,  and 
take  every  thing  kindly  as  I mean  it.  You 
know  1 first  opposed  your  marriage,  because  I 
thought  your  husband  could  not  make  enough 


80 


LIVING  UP 


to  support  you ; but  afterwards  I saw  I was 
mistaken.  I saw  you  not  only  comfortable, 
but  possessing  all  that  seemed  necessary  ; for 
then,  you  were  moderate  in  your  desires  and 
expenses.  I have  since  felt  misgivings,  when 
1 saw  you  increasing  your  manner  of  living. 
But  I said,  the}'’  know  best  their  own  means, 
and  I believed  that  you  were  at  least  happier ; 
but  indeed,  Jane,  I must  say  I find  it  other- 
wise. When  1 last  dined  with  you  in  R. 
Street,  your  dinner  was  simple  and  well  cook- 
ed ; your  little  smiling  children  round  you,  well- 
behaved,  and  patiently  waiting  for  their  turn  to 
he  helped.  How  was  it  to-day  ? A costly  and 
more  than  abundant  dinner  spoiled  in  the  cook- 
ing ; a change  of  plates,  knives  and  forks,  with 
difficulty  to  be  procured.  The  children  shut 
up  in  a chamber,  noisy  and  half-fed,  and  their 
mother  looking  feverish,  anxious,  and  unhappy, 
and  unable  to  attend  to  the  conversation  at  the 
table,  hardly  to  give  answers  to  her  guests,  so 
necessarily  was  she  engrossed  with  the  dinner  ’ 
‘ O,  uncle,  what  a picture  ! ’ 

‘ I dare  say,  Jane,  you  want  to  tell  me 
every  body  does  so  ; but  I know  better  than 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


81 


that.  It  is  very  well  for  people  to  live  in 
what  is  called  style,  if  they  have  all  things 
in  agreement  ; if  they  can  afford  to  have  the 
best  of  attendance,  of  cooks,  &c. ; but  there  is 
no  gentility  in  doing  things  by  halves.’ 

‘ Indeed,  uncle,’  said  Jane,  rallying  her 
spirits,  ‘ we  were  very  unfortunate  to-day. 
Our  servants  are  all  bad.  I hope  to  get  bet- 
ter : and  I have  a very  good  nursery-maid 
engaged.’ 

‘ A nursery-maid  ! Take  care  of  your  chil- 
dren yourself;  don’t  make  them  over  to  a 
nursery-maid  let  them  have  their  seats  at 
your  table.  I feel  indignation  when  I see 
these  little  men  and  women  turned  over  to 
nursery-maids.  And  now,  Jane,  I know  I 
have  made  this  day  an  uncomfortable  one  for 
you,  and  God  knows  it  has  been  so  for  me.  I 
should  be  sorry,  if  I had  not  meant,  by  all  my 
advice,  to  do  you  the  greatest  kindness  I have 
ever  done  you  yet ; and  I close  with  one  re- 
mark,— that  no  style  of  living  is  good,  or,  to  use 
your  own  phrase,  genteel,  that  is  not  thorough, 
consistent,  and  well  carried  through.  God 
bless  you  ! ’ — and  he  hurried  away. 


82 


LIVING  UP 


A tribute  of  tears  followed  his  departure. 
In  the  midst  of  them,  Frank  entered.  His 
friends  had  taken  their  leave. 

‘ What  is  the  matter,  Jane  ? ’ said  he.  ‘ O, 
I understand ; uncle  Joshua  has  been  reading 
you  a lecture  upon  extravagance.  I suppose 
he  never  saw  such  a dinner ! He  knows 
nothing  of  fashionable  life  ; and,  I dare  say,  he 
thinks  we  are  on  the  road  to  ruin.  Come,  tell 
me  what  he  said  about  it.’ 

» ‘ He  said,’  replied  Jane,  sobbing,  ‘ it  was 
badly  served  and  badly  cooked.’ 

Frank  looked  rather  crest-fallen.  ‘Ex- 
tremely polite,  I must  confess.’ 

‘ It  was  all  true,’  said  Jane.  I am  mortified 
about  it.’ 

‘Never  mind,’  said  Frank.  ‘I  told  them 
what  cursed  servants  we  had.’ 

From  this  time,  uncle  Joshua’s  visits  were 
less  and  less  frequent ; and  even  Jane  began 
to  think  it  was  hardly  worth  while  for  him  to 
take  the  trouble  of  coming. 

When  the  year  was  drawing  to  a close, 
Frank  found,  with  some  dismay,  that,  instead 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


83 


of  adding  to  his  little  capital,  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  he  could  get  through  without  dimin- 
ishing it.  This  conviction  harassed  him,  and 
he  began  to  he  anxious  about  the  future.  He 
could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  his  business 
had  decreased,  probably,  by  inattention.  Still 
Jane  was  his  confidant  ; and  to  her  he  com- 
municated his  anxieties.  She  proposed  they 
should  retrench  in  their  expenses.  But,  after 
various  calculations,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
they  could  give  up,  except  what  was  too  tri- 
fiing  to  make  any  difference.  As  if  domestic 
economy  did  not  consist  in  trifles  ! While  in 
this  state  of  perplexity,  Frank  received  a pro- 
posal of  joining  a speculation  that  wore  a very 
promising  aspect.  When  he  talked  of  it  to 
Jane,  she,  at  first,  felt  a timidity  in  venturing 
their  all.  But  she  was  easily  convinced  that 
it  vas  better  than  retrenching.  The  little 
capital  which  they  had  been,  all  their  married 
life,  accumulating,  with  the  legacy,  was  now 
invested  in  an  enterprise  that  Frank  was  very 
sure  would  yield  at  least  twenty  per  cent. ; and 
as  they  were  positively  determined  not  to  go 


84 


LIVING  UP 


beyond  their  present  annual  expenditure,  the 
interest  would  be  constantly  added  to  the  origi- 
nal investment  ; and  there  was  no  reason  why 
they  should  not,  in  time,  be  wealthy. 

‘ I confess,’  said  Frank,  ‘ I am  sick  of  this 
laborious  life ; — sick  of  being  every  body’s 
servant.  There  is  no  such  hard  task-master 
as  the  public.  Even  the  slaves,  about  whom 
we  make  so  much  fuss,  have  their  sure  mo- 
ments of  recreation,  and  time  allowed  for  their 
food.  But  jihysicians,  who  depend  on  their 
jirofession  for  a daily  living,  have  not  a moment 
they  can  call  their  own.  Let  the  dinner  be 
ever  so  tempting,  we  must  leave  it  untasted.  * 
And  it  is  almost  necessary  for  us  to  learn  to 
sleep,  like  horses, — standing,  and  ready  to  run 
at  a moment’s  warning.’ 

‘ It  is  very  hard,’  said  Jane,  in  a sympathiz- 
ing tone. 

‘ And  after  all,’  continued  Frank,  ‘ hardly  to 
be  able  to  make  a living  ! ’ 

‘ How  unfortunate,’  said  Jane,  ‘ that  you 
fixed  upon  this  profession  ! ’ 


I 


TO  THE  MEANS. 


85 


‘ It  has  been  a tolerable  stepping-stone, 
however,’  said  Frank. 

This  is  a phrase  that  is  always  recurring  to 
the  worldly  and  ambitious,  in  mind,  if  not  in 
conversation.  With  them,  the  world  is  made 
up  of  stepping-stones.  One  rises  upon  anoth- 
er, like  a flight  of  stairs  ; and  when  they  get 
near  the  summit,  their  heads  often  grow  giddy, 
and  they  fall. 

‘ At  any  rate,’  said  Jane,  with  some  twinges 
of  conscience,  ‘ we  have  made  out  much  better 
than  we  had  any  right  to  expect,  considering 
we  had  nothin v to  begin  with.  We  have,  till 
this  year,  always  lived  within  our  means.’ 

We  must  take  great  pains  to  shut  our  eyes 
upon  truth.  There  is  a radiance  about  it,  that 
makes  the  outline  of  its  form  perceptible,  even 
amongst  the  clouds  of  dust  and  rubbish  that 
are  sometimes  heaped  upon  it.  Error  does 
not  so  often  arise  from  ignorance  of  truth,  as 
unwillingness  to  receive  it.  IMany  a wander- 
ing thought  had  entered  both  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Fulton’s  minds,  that  they  were  departing  from 
tire  principle  on  which  they  first  set  out,  of 
q 


86  LIVING  UP  TO  THE  MEANS. 

limiting  their  desires  to  their  means.  But  they 
consoled  themselves  with  the  idea,  that  the 
Reeds,  and  twenty  others,  lived  more  expen- 
sively than  they  did,  with  no  larger  income  ; 
therefore,  it  was  all  right  and  proper. 

When  Dr.  Fulton  closed  his  account  for 
the  year,  his  expenses  exactly  met  his  in- 


come. 


THREE 

EXPERIMENTS  OF  LIVING. 


PART  III. 

LIVING  BEYOND  THE  MEANS. 


LIVING 


BEYOND  THE  MEANS. 


It  would  be  hard,  if  authors,  who  lavish  so 
much  ink  and  paper  on  the  public,  should  not 
derive  advantage  from  public  improvements. 
In  the  spirit  of  modern  invention,  they  ought 
to  be  allowed  to  post  rapidly  over  space,  and 
make  use  of  steam  and  rail-roads  to  expedite 
their  progress. 

We  now  travel  on  for  a few  yeai-s,  passing 
events  as  indistinctly  as  the  locomotive  passes 
houses,  trees  and  people,  and  at  length  stop  at 
a landing-place. 

Frank’s  speculations  had  been  successful, 
and  he  began  to  feel  the  self-consequence  of 
wealth. 

‘ We  pay  an  enormous  rent  for  this  house,’ 
said  he,  one  day,  as  he  rose  to  close  a blind, 
8* 


90 


LIVING  BEYOND 


through  which  the  setting  sun  poured  its  intol- 
erable brightness. 

‘ We  thought  it  low,  when  we  rented  it,’ 
said  Jane,  ‘ and  they  say  rents  have  risen.’ 

‘ I mean  enormous  for  its  size  and  situation. 
There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  remain  in 
it.  Our  lease  expires  this  year,  and  I shall 
not  renew  it.’ 

Jane  felt  a reluctance  to  moving,  and  said, 
‘ It  was  but  the  other  day  that  Mrs.  Reed  and 
I were  speaking  of  the  block,  and  saying,  what 
convenient,  genteel  houses  they  were.’ 

‘ Yes  ; very  well,  very  well  for  the  Reeds; 
but  we  can  afford  something  better.  The 
house  next  to  Mr.  Bradish’s,  tliat  he  owns,  is  to 
be  let.  We  will  go  and  look  at  it  to-morrow.’ 
The  next  morning  they  went  to  see  it.  It 
was  a very  fine  house,  and  in  a very  fine  situa- 
tion ; but  the  rent  even  Frank  hesitated  about. 

‘ The  Bradishes  would  be  most  delightful 
neighbors,’  he  said.  ‘ They  were  people  of 
established  rank  and  wealth  ; they  were  not  all 
the  time  strugsling  to  be  thought  something  of, 
as  the  Reeds  were,  who,  he  could  not  help 
thinking,  were  a little  envious  of  his  superior 
success  in  the  world.’ 


THE  MEANS. 


91 


It  was  a truth,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Fulton 
had  left  their  ‘ patronizing’  friends  behind  them, 
and,  like  the  ungrateful  world,  felt  a disinclina- 
tion to  look  back.  The  intercourse,  however, 
was  as  frequent  as  ever,  but  not  as  pleasant. 
Mrs.  Reed  had  a wonderful  faculty  of  saying 
Hide,  indifferent  things,  in  so  guarded  a man- 
ner, that  only  the  spirit  of  them  could  be  felt. 
Jane  often  wondered  what  it  was  that  made 
her  nervous  and  uncomfortable,  v/hen  she  was 
v/ith  her,  and  certainly  felt  no  regret  at  the 
idea  of  getting  a little  further  off.  The  more 
they  thought  of  the  house,  of  their  alienation 
tov/ai'ds  the  Reeds,  and  their  growing  attach- 
ment to  the  Bradishes,  the  more  inclined  they 
were  to  quit  their  present  residence. 

But  a new  obstacle  presented  itself.  IMr. 
Bradisb  wished  to  sell  the  house,  and  there- 
fore vould  not  let  them  take  a lease  of  it. 
Frank  said,  ‘ to  carpet  and  furnish  such  a 
house  as  that,  and  perhaps  be  obliged  to  leave 
it  at  the  end  of  the  year,  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion.’ The  only  alternative,  then,  was,  to  give 
it  up,  or  purchase  it.  This  alternative  was  a 
subject  of  much  discussion  between  Inm  and 


92 


LIVING  BEYOND 


Jaii3.  Not  that  she  had  any  head  for  business  ; 
but  she  was  his  dearest  friend,  and  there  was 
a straight  forward  good  sense  in  her  mind, 
when  it  was  not  biased  by  her  affection  and 
deference  for  her  husband,  of  wliich  he  fully 
felt  the  value.  She  was  very  decided  in  her 
opinion,  that  the  house  they  were  in  was  quite 
good  enough  for  the  present ; when  their 
daughters  were  old  enough  to  go  into  company, 
it  might  be  an  object  to  get  such  a house.  But 
Frank  assured  her  such  a chance  might  not 
then  occur.  Mr.  Bradish  had  offered  to  make 
the  tern}s  very  easy  to  him.  Real  estate  was 
' every  day  rising  in  value ; and  he  was  fully 
convinced  it  was  a good  thing,  merely  as  a 
matter  of  speculation.  This  word  Jane  had 
so  often  heard  from  her  husband’s  lips,  that  it 
began  to  sound  to  her  like  wealth. 

‘ But  how,’  said  Jane,  ‘ can  you  pay  for  it  ? 
Have  you  thirty  thousand  dollars  at  command  ? ’ 

‘ I can  easily  command  it.  To  tell  you  the  * 
truth,  Jane,  Mr.  Bradish  has  offered  to  let  me 
the  money.’ 

‘ Let  you  the  money  to  buy  his  own  house  ! 
How  strange  ! ’ 


THE  ME  AN  S . 


93 


‘Yes.  He  is  very  desii’ous  that  we  should 
have  it ; and,  as  it  is  not  convenient  for  me  to 
withdraw  so  much  of  my  property,  he  will 
make  it  quite  easy  to  me.  In  other  words,  it 
is  to  remain  on  mortgage,  and  I am  to  pay  him 
at  leisure,  by  instalments.’ 

‘ I should  think  this  was  the  same  thing  as 
renting  it.’ 

‘ Not  exactly ; for  the  house  is  mine.  There- 
fore, if  it  rises  to  twice  its  present  value,  I am 
the  gainer,  not  he.’ 

This  was  the  only  position  Jane  compre- 
hended ; and  as  her  husband  assured  her  it 
mist  rise,  she  was  fully  convinced,  and  the 
house  was  bought. 

To  prepare  the  house  for  their  reception,  now 
wholly  engrossed  them.  As  it  was  a thing  for 
life,  it  was  well  worth  while  to  strain  every 
nerve  to  do  it  in  the  best  manner.  Mrs.  Brad- 
ish  had  very  kindly  dropped  a hint,  that  when 
a ball  was  given  by  either  family,  a door  might 
be  cut  through,  and  both  houses  thrown  into 
one.  It  became,  therefore,  almost  indispensa- 
ble, that  one  house  should  be  furnished  nearly 
as  elegantly  as  the  other.  The  same  cabinet- 


94 


LIVING  BEYOND 


maker  and  upholsterer  was  employed ; and 
when  completed,  it  certainly  was  not  much 
inferior  to  Mr.  Bradish’s. 

Jane  was  not  behind  Mrs.  Bradish,  in  cos- 
tume or  figure.  Every  morning,  at  the  hour 
for  calls,  she  was  elegantly  attired  for  visiters. 
Many  came  from  curiosity.  Mrs.  Hart  con- 
gratulated her  dear  friend,  on  seeing  her  moving 
in  a sphere,  for  which  it  was  evident  nature 
intended  her.  Mrs.  Reed  cautioned  her  against 
any  mauvaise  honte,  that  might  remind  one  of 
former  times.  Others  admired  her  furniture 
and  arrangements,  without  any  sly  allusions. 
On  one  of  these  gala  mornings,  uncle  Joshua 
was  ushered  into  the  room.  Jane  was  fortu- 
nately alone,  and  she  went  forward  and  offered 
two  fingers  with  a cordial  air,  but  whispered  to 
the  servant,  ‘ if  any  one  else  called,  while  he  was 
there,  to  say  she  was  engaged.’  She  had 
scrupulously  observed  her  promise,  of  never 
sending  word  she  was  not  at  home.  There 
was  a mock  kind  of  deference  in  his  air  and 
manner,  that  embarrassed  Jane. 

‘ So,’  said  he,  looking  round  him,  ‘ we  have 
a palace  here  ! ’ 


THE  MEANS. 


95 


‘ The  house  we  were  in,  was  quite  too  small, 
now  that  our  children  are  growing  so  large,’ 
replied  Jane. 

‘ They  must  be  greatly  beyond  the  common 
size,’  said  uncle  Joshua,  ‘if  that  house  could 
not  hold  them.’ 

‘ It  was  a very  inconvenient  one ; and  we 
thought,  as  it  was  a monstrous  rent,  it  would 
be  better  to  take  another.  Then,  after  we  had 
bought  this,  it  certainly  was  best  to  furnish  it 
comfortably,  as  it  was  for  life.’ 

‘ Is  it  paid  for  ? ’ asked  uncle  Joshua,  drily. 

Jane  hesitated. 

‘ Paid  for  ? O certainly  ; that  is, — yes,  sir.’ 

‘ I am  glad  to  hear  it ; otherwise,  I much 
doubt  if  it  is  taken  for  life.’ 

Jane  was  silent. 

‘ Very  comfortable,’  said  uncle  Joshua ; ‘ that 
is  a comfortable  glass  for  your  husband  to  shave 
by ; and  those  are  comfortable  curtains,  to 
keep  out  the  sun  and  cold.’  Both  of  these 
articles  were  strikingly  elegant.  ‘ That  is  a 
comfortable  lamp,  that  hangs  in  the  middle  of 
the  room ; it  almost  puts  put  my  eyes,  with  its 
glass  danglers.  Times  are  strangely  altered, 


96 


LIVING  BEYOND 


Jane,  since  you  and  I thought  such  comforts 
necessary,’ 

‘Frank  has  been  very  successful  in  his 
speculations,  uncle  ; he  does  not  now  depend 
on  his  profession  for  a living  ; indeed,  he  thinks 
it  his  duty  to  live  as  other  people  do,  and  place 
his  wife  and  children  upon  an  equality  with 
others.’ 

‘ And  what  do  you  call  an  equality, — living 
as  luxuriously,  and  wasting  as  much  time  as 
they  do  ? Dwelling  in  as  costly  apartments, 
and  forgetting  there  is  any  other  world  than 
this  ? When  you  were  left  to  my  care,  and 
your  dear  mother  was  gone  from  us,  how 
often  I lamented  that  I could  not  supply  her 
place, — that  I could  not  better  talk  to  you  of 
another  world,  to  which  she  had  gone  ; but 
then,  Jane,  I comforted  myself  that  I knew 
somethiiiff  of  the  duties  that  belono;ed  to  this, 
and  that,  if  I faithfully  instructed  you  in  these, 
I should  be  preparing  you  for  another.  When 
I saw  you  growing  up,  dutiful  and  humble, 
charitable  and  self-denying,  sincere,  and  a 
conscientious  disciple  of  truth,  then,  I felt 
satisfied  that  all  was  well.  But  I begin  now 


THE  ME  AN  S. 


97 


to  fear,  that  it  was  a short-sighted  kind  of  in- 
struction,— that  it  had  not  power  enough  to 
enable  us  to  hold  fast  to  what  is  right.  I be- 
gin now  to  see,  that  we  must  have  motives 
that  do  not  depend  on  the  praise  or  censure  of 
this  world, — motives  that  must  have  ncjthing 
to  do  with  it.’ 

‘Frank  told  me  the  other  day,’  said 
Jane,  ‘ that  he  thought  you  were  growing 
quite  religious.’ 

‘If  I am,’  said  uncle  Joshua,  ‘ it  is  from  the 
conviction,  that  I want  higher  motives  than 
this  world  can  give.  When  I lost  you,  Jane, 
I was  a poor  solitary  being.  The  world,  you 
know,  is  not  much  to  me,  and  I was  still  less 
to  that.  For  a time,  you  were  still  my  own 
Jane  ; but  when  your  famil}^  increased,  and, — 
as  was  very  natural, — you  were  occupied  by  it, 
then  I was  thrown  quite  on  myself.  And  a 
dreary  prospect  it  was.  Then  I asked  myself, 
if  all  was  to  end  here  ? Not  but  what  I believed 
in  another  world,  but  it  was  just  as  I believed 
in  England  or  France:  but  now,  Jane,  I have 
thought  it  over,  till  I feel  that  heaven  is 
a land  I am  going  to,  and  the  Bible  my 
9 


98 


LIVING  BEYOND 


chart  to  steer  by ; and  1 am  no  longer  solitary 
or  alone.  Now,  my  dear  Jane,  I want  you  to 
believe  it.’ 

‘ I do,  uncle,’  said  Jane,  affectionately  ; ‘ you 
always  taught  me  that  my  mother  had  gone  to 
heaven,  and  that  if  I was  good,  I should  go 
too.’ 

‘ Ah,  but,  my  dear  child,  I want  you  iofeeVii, 
— to  feel  the  comfort  and  blessing  of  God’s 
presence.  It  seems  to  me,  that  when  we  once 
I’ealize  the  glory  of  heaven,  we  shall  not 
think  much  of  these  earthly  palaces.  Do  not 
wait  till  you  go  to  heaven,  to  realize  God’s 
presence,  but  feel  that  he  is  with  you  always, — 
teach  it  to  your  children, — win  your  husband 
to  the  truth.’ 

‘I  wish,  my  dear  uncle,’  said  Jane,  and  at 
that  moment  she  spoke  sincerely,  ‘ I wish  you 
would  come  and  live  with  us  ; we  have  now 
room  enough.  Frank  and  I would  do  every 
thing  in  our  power,  to  make  you  happy.  Then 
I could  see  you  every  day,  and  often ; — say, 
dear  uncle,  will  you  come  ? 

The  old  man’s  eyes  overflowed. 

‘ Blessings  on  you,  my  dear  child,’  said  he. 


THE  MEANS. 


99 


‘ No,  Jane ; — you  forget,  how  short  my  time 
is,  at  the  longest.  What  is  left,  is  little  enough 
to  prepare  for  eternity.  I must  put  it  all  to  its 
best  purposes  ; so  that  when  my  Master  calls, 

I may  render  such  an  account,  as  may  give  me 
permission  to  enter, — not  such  a hall  as  this, — 
but  one  far  more  glorious  than  can  be  wrought 
by  human  hands.  But  we  must  not  let  our 
talk  of  another  world  wholly  banish  our 
thoughts  of  this.  I have  made  a great  exer- 
tion to  come  and  see  you  this  morning.  I 
found  it  difficult  to  get  here,  owing  to  my 
shortness  of  breath,  which  I think  grows  upon  . 
me.  Therefore,  I shall  not  come  again  soon  ; 
and  I must  finish  what  I have  to  say.  All 
seems  prosperous  now.  But  I am  afraid 
Frank  is  living  beyond  his  means.’ 

‘ O,  no,  uncle,  he  has  been  very  successful 
in  some  speculations  that  he  has  made.  I as- 
sure you,  we  can  afford  all  tliis,  and  a great 
deal  more.’ 

‘ I am  glad  that  he  has  paid  for  the  house,’ 
said  uncle  Joshua. 

Jane  was  silent. 

‘ You  told  rne  he  had.’ 


100 


LIVING  BEYOND 


‘ O,  yes,’  said  she,  making  an  effort  to 
speak. 

‘Well,  I must  begone.’ 

‘ Uncle,’  said  Jane,  ‘ do  ride  home,  it  is  such 
a long  walk.  I expect  a carriage  at  one.’ 

He  hesitated.  Alas,  for  poor  human  nature  ! 
Jane  had  promised  to  call  Mrs.  Bradish  at  that 
hour  to  make  visits  ; it  wanted  only  a few 
minutes  of  it.  The  inconvenience  of  sending, 
or  taking  him  home,  occurred  to  her  mind,  and 
she  added,.  ‘ but  -I  know  you  had  rather  walk, 
so  I will  not  urge  the  matter.’ 

If  uncle  Joshua  saw  the  wavering  of  her 
mind,  he  did  not  appear  to  notice  it ; but,  af- 
fectionately embracing  her,  desired  his  kind 
love  to  Frank  and  the  children,  and  departed. 
Soon  after  he  left  the  house,  the  carriage  which 
Jane  had  ordered,  came  to  the  door ; and 
almost  immediately  a message  from  Mrs.  Brad- 
ish, saying,  ‘she  had  a bad  headache,  and 
must  give  up  her  visits.’ 

‘ What  a pity,’  said  Jane,  ‘ I did  not  per- 
suade uncle  Joshua  to  ride  home ! but  he  was 
in  such  a hurry!  Well,  I am  glad  I asked 
him, — it  certainly  was  not  my  fault  that  he 
did  not  ride.’ 


THE  MEANS. 


101 


The  carriage  was  ordered  away,  for  Mrs. 
Bradish’s  company  was  indispensable.  And  a 
few  moments  of  reflection  forced  themselves 
on. her  mind, — ‘Did  I do  right,’  was  the  first* 
thought,  ‘in  saying  Frank  had  paid  for  the 
house  ? ’ 

Turn  it  which  way  she  could,  it  sounded  to 
her  like  a falsehood.  She  was  sure  uncle 
Joshua  would  think  it  so.  She  thought  over 
his  conversation,  his  long  kindness  to  her,  of 
her  mother’s  death,  and  at  last  of  her  own. 
This  is  a subject  that  seldoms  fails  to  call  forth 
tears  from  the  unthinking,  if  it  chance  to  occur. 
Jane  had  already  imagined  her  funeral  bier, — 
her  weeping  children  and  agonized  husband, — 
the  world  in  sadness, — and  very  soon  she  was 
deluged  with  tears. 

‘ What  is  the  matter  now,  Jane,’  said  Frank, 
as  he  suddenly  entered. 

Jane  could  not  tell  him  she  was  mourning 
over  her  own  obsequies. 

‘ Nothing,’  said  she,  ‘ only  uncle  Joshua  has 
been  here.’ 

‘ And  has  been  giving  you  another  lecture, 

I suppose ! ’ 

9* 


102 


LIVING  BEYOND 


‘ He  asked  me  if  you  had  paid  for  the 
house.’ 

‘ What  did  you  tell  him  ? ’ 

‘ I told  him  you  had ; but  I am  afraid  I did 
wrong.’ 

‘ O no,  it  is  mine ; I have  a deed  of  it.’ 

‘ But  after  all,  you  have  only  hired  the 
money.’ 

‘Very  well,  I shall  pay  lawful  interest  for 
that  money.’ 

‘ 1 do  n’t  understand,’  said  Jane,  ‘ how  the 
house  is  paid  for.’ 

‘ No,  women  never  understand  these  things, 
and,  therefore,  they  should  not  talk  about 
them.’ 

‘ And  yet,  ’ said  Jane,  ‘ that  is  the  only  way 
to  understand  them.  It  would  set  my  heart 
at  ease,  if  you  would  explain  to  my  satisfac- 
tion, how  you  have  paid  for  the  house.’ 

‘ Upon  my  word,  your  moral  tact  is  so  very 
exquisite,  that  1 cannot  comprehend  it.  Most 
wives  are  satisfied  with  their  husband’s  word, 
but  you  require  demonstration.’ 

Jane  strove  to  look  satisfied,  but  she  felt  that 
a kind  word  from  Frank  would  have  comfort- 
ed her  more  than  his  answers. 


THE  MEANS. 


103 


‘ Uncle  Joshua  is  growing  quite  a fanatic, 
I think.’  said  Frank  ; ‘ 1 suppose  he  talked  to 
you  about  religion.  For  my  part,  I like  every 
thing  in  its  proper  place, — religion  in  the 
pulpit.’ 

‘Is  it  never  to  come  out?  ’ said  Jane,  in- 
quiringly. 

‘ Not  if  it  makes  us  unhappy.  I came  to 
tell  you  that  I shall  dine  out  to-day.’ 

‘ How  sorry  I am,  I did  not  know  it  before  ; 
I would  have  persuaded  my  uncle  to  stay  and 
dine.’ 

‘ How  sorry  I am,’  said  Frank,  imitating  hei 
tone,  ‘ that  you  did  not  take  this  opportunity.’ 

Uncle  Joshua  appeared  so  feeble  and  short 
breathed,  that  Jane  was  not  satisfied  with  her 
feelings  towards  him,  nor  exactly  with  her 
conduct, — and  therefore  her  conscience  smote 
her. 

‘ As  it  has  turned  out,’  said  she,  ‘ I might 
have  sent  him  home  in  the  carriage,  or  per- 
suaded him  to  stay  and  dine,  and  he  would  have 
recovered  from  his  fatigue.  I did,  however,  as 
I thought  was  best,  and  that  is  all  we  can  do. 
We  can  only  do  as  seems  to  us  right  for  the 
present.’ 


104 


LIVING  BEYOND 


How  many  deceive  themselves  with  this 
opiate.  The  indolent,  the  selfish,  and  the 
worldl}'^,  lay  this  flattering  unction  to  their  con- 
sciences,— as  if  doing  what  seems  to  us  rio;ht 
for  the  present  did  not  require  reflection, 
judgment,  and  often  all  the  self-denying,  as 
w ell  as  energetic  qualities  of  our  nature. 

‘ I hope,’  said  Frank,  ‘ you  did  not  tell  him 
1 w^as  going  to  relinquish  my  profession,  and 
enter  into  the  mercantile  line  ? ’ 

‘ No,’  said  Jane,  ‘ I did  not  know  that  you 
seriously  thought  of  it.’ 

‘ If  you  had,  I suppose,  you  would  have  told 
him.’ 

‘ I do  n’t  think  I should  ; but  I really  wish 
3’ou  would  consult  him.’ 

A scornful  laLwh  from  Frank,  broutrht  the 

O 7 0 

color  into  Jane’s  cheeks. 

‘ Consult  uncle  Joshua ! that  is  a good  one  ! ’ 
and  he  left  the  room. 

The  first  thought  that  rose  to  Jane’s  mind 
w'as,  ‘ how  Frank  is  altered.’ 

That  evening,  Jane  was  engaged  at  a large 

07  o o o 

part}L  She  w'as  still  young  and  handsome, 
and,  surrounded  by  the  gay  and  frivolous,  she 


THE  MEANS. 


105 


danced  quadrilles  and  cotillons,  and  returned  at 
one,  without  thinking  any  more  of  her  own 
obsequies. 

As  they  entered  the  door,  on  their  return, 
one  of  the  women  met  them,  and  told  Frank 
there  had  been  a message  from  uncle  Joshua, 
requesting  him  to  come  immediately  to  see 
him,  as  he  was  very  sick. 

Jane  was  alarmed.  ‘ His  walk  was  too 
much  for  him,  I am  afraid,’  she  exclaimed. 

Frank  looked  at  his  watch.  ‘ Half  past 
one-!  Do  you  think  I had  better  go?  ’ . 

‘ O.  certainly.  I will  go  with  you.’ 

‘ Nonsense ! With  that  dress  1 ’ 

Jane  was  resolute,  and  Frank  ceased  to 
oppose  her.  They  drove  through  the  unfash- 
ionable parts  of  the  town, — stopped  at  uncle 
Joshua’s  little  green  door,  and  knocked  softly. 
A strange  woman  came  to  the  door. 

‘ How  is  my  uncle  ? ’ said  Jane. 

‘ He  is  dead,’  said  the  woman,  in  an  indif- 
ferent tone. 

They  rushed  in.  It  was  true.  The  old 
man  lay  motionless, — his  features  retaining  the 
fii-st  benign  expression  of  death.  With  what 


106 


L IVI NG  B ETOND 


agony  did  Jane  lean  over  him,  and  press  with 
her  parched  lips  his  cold  forehead  ! 

‘ My  more  than  uncle, — my  father ! ’ she 
exclaimed,  while  torrents  of  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes.  Then  recollecting  the  scene  of  the  day 
before,  she  felt  as  if  she  was  his  murderer. 
‘Tell  me,’  said  she,  ‘how  it  all  happened. 
Did  he  live  to  get  home  ? Tell  tne  the  worst, 
while  I have  power  to  hear  it.  My  poor,  dear 
uncle ! But  yesterday,  I could  have  folded 
my  arms  around  you,  and  you  would  have 
smiled  upon  me  and  loved  me ; but  I was 
ungrateful  and  cold-hearted,  and  I let  you  go. 
O ! that  I could  buy  back  those  precious  mo- 
ments ! — that  yesterday  would  again  return  ! ’ 

Frank  strove  to  soothe  her  grief.  But  she 
constantly  recurred  to  his  long  walk,  which  a 
word  of  hers  might  have  prevented. 

They  found,  upon  inquiry,  that  his  death 
was  without  warning.  He  had  returned  home, 
and  passed  the  afternoon  as  usual.  In  the 
evening,  at  about  nine,  he  complained  of  a pain 
at  his  heart,  and  desired  Dr.  Fulton  might  be 
sent  for.  Before  the  message  could  have 
reached  him,  his  breath  had  departed. 


THE  MEANS. 


107 


' You  see,  Jane,’  said  Frank,  ‘ that  if  I had 
been  at  home,  it  would  have  been  too  late.’ 

‘ It  is  I,  it  is  I,  that  am  the  cause  of  his 
death  ! ’ exclaimed  Jane.  ‘ O,  that  1 could 
recall  yesterday  ! ’ 

The  suddenness  of  the  death  induced  those 
around  to  think  proper  that  an  examination 
should  he  made.  It  was  found  that  the  dis- 
ease was  the  angina  pectoris. 

‘ So  you  see,  Jane,’  said  Frank,  who  really 
wished  to  console  her,  ‘ that  his  death  was 
inevitable ; and  you  may  set  your  conscience 
at  rest.’ 

But  what  reasoning  can  stifle  self-reproach  ? 
Jane  would  have  given  worlds,  to  have  recall- 
ed the  last  few  years  of  worldly  engrossment 
and  alienation  towards  her  uncle.  But  now  it 
was  all  too  late.  He  was  alike  insensible  to 
her  indifference  or  her  affection. 

That  sorrow  which  is  excited  merely  by  cir- 
cumstances, soon  passes  away.  There  is  a 
deep  and  holy  grief,  that  raises  and  sublimates 
the  character,  after  its  bitterness  is  gone.  It  is 
health  and  strength  to  the  mind.  It  were  to 
be  wished,  that  Jane’s  had  been  ;f  this  nature ; 
but  it  was  made  up  of  sensatioa 


108 


LIVING  BEYOND 


When  uncle  Joshua’s  will  was  opened,  it 
was  found  that  the  little  property  he  left  was 
secured  to  Jane’s  children,  with  this  clause : 
‘ At  present,  it  does  not  appear  that  my  belov- 
ed niece  wants  any  part  of  it.  But  if,  by  any 
change  of  circumstances, — and  life  is  full  of 
change, — she  should  require  assistance,  she  is 
to  receive  the  annual  income,  of  the  whole, 
quarterly,  during  her  life.’  He  had  appointed 
as  executor  and  guardian  of  his  will,  Samuel 
Watson,  a respectable  mechanic  in  bis  own 
walk  of  life. 

‘ After  all,’  said  Frank,  with  an  ironical  air, 
‘I  don’t  see,  Jane,  but  you  turn  out  an 
heiress.’ 

‘ My  dear  uncle,’  returned  she,  in  a faltering 
voice,  ‘ has  left  us  all  he  had.  I am  unworthy 
of  his  kindness.’ 

‘ For  heaven’s  sake,  Jane,  do  n’t  keep  for- 
ever harping  upon  that  string.  What  could 
you  have  done  more  ? You  say  you  asked 
him  to  come  and  live  with  us.’ 

‘ Yes  ; but  now  1 feel  how  much  more  daily 
and  constant  attention  would  have  been  to 
him,  than  any  such  displays  that  I occasionally 


THE  MEANS. 


109 


made.  I earnestly  hope  he  did  not  perceive 
ray  neglect.’ 

There  are  no  lessons  of  kindness  and  good 
will  that  come  so  home,  to  the  heart,  as  those 
which  are  enforced  by  sudden  death.  Who 
has  ever  lost  a beloved  friend,  that  would  not 
give  worlds  for  one  hour  of  the  intercourse  for 
ever  gone  ? — one  hour  to  pour  forth  the  s\vell- 
ing  alfection  of  the  heart, — to  make  atonement 
for  errors  and  mistakes, — to  solicit  forgiveness, 
— to  become  perfect  in  self-sacrifice  and  disin- 
terested devotion?  This  is  one  of  the  wise 
and  evident  uses  of  sudden  death, — that  we 
may  so  live  with  our  friends,  that  come  when 
and  how  it  will,  we  may  not  add  to  the  griev- 
ous loss,  the  self-reproach  of  unldndness  or 
neglected  duties. 

Jane’s  heart  was  bleeding  under  a feeling  of 
remorse.  It  wanted  soothing  and  kindness  ; 
but  Frank  seemed  vexed  and  out  of  humor. 

‘ There  could  not,’  said  he,  ‘ be  any  thing 
more  consistent  with  uncle  Joshua’s  narrow 
views,  than  his  last  will  and  testament.  To 
make  such  a man  as  Samuel  Watson  liis  ex- 
ecutor, and  trustee  for  my  children  ! ’ 

10 


no 


LIVING  BEYOND 


‘ He  was  his  particular  friend  ; and  I have 
often  heard  my  uncle  say,  he  was  “honesty 
and  uprightness  to  the  back  bone,”  ’ replied 
Jane. 

‘ Yes  ; I know  that  was  a chosen  expression 
of  the  old  gentleman’s.  However,  thank  for- 
tune ! I need  have  no  association  with  him. 
If  he  had  left  the  property  to  my  care,  who 
am  the  natural  guardian  of  my  children,  I 
could  have  made  something  handsome  of  it 
by  the  time  they  wanted  it;  but  he  has  so  com- 
pletely tied  it  up,  that  it  will  never  get  much 
beyond  the  paltry  sum  it  is  now.’ 

Samuel  Watson,  the  guardian  and  executor, 
was  a man  much  resembling  uncle  Joshua,  in 
the  honest  good  sense  of  his  character;  but  he 
was  a husband  and  a father.  His  sympathies 
had  been  called  forth  by  these  strong  ties,  and 
by  the  faithful  affection  of  an  excellent  wife. 
They  had  lived  to  bury  all  their  children  but 
one ; and  that  one  seemed  to  exist  only  as  a 
link  between  this  world  and  another.  He  had 
been,  from  infancy,  an  invalid.  They  had 
hung  over  him,  with  prayers  and  anguish, 
through  many  a year  of  sickness,  spending 


THE  MEANS  . 


Ill 


upon  him  a watchfulness  and  anxiety  that  the 
other  two  children  did  not  seem  to  demand ; 
for  they  were  strong  in  health  and  activity. 
His  two  brothers,  braced  together  like  horses, 
delighted  to  draw  the  little  invalid,  in  his 
wicker-carriage,  over  the  hills  and  valleys  of 
Dorchester,  where  they  then  resided.  A 
greater  contrast  could  hardly  have  existed 
between  the  horses  and  the  rider.  They,  full 
of  health,  bloom  and  animal  spirits,  only  check- 
ed by  the  feeble  voice  of  Oliver,  begging  them 
not  to  go  quite  so  fast ; and  when  they  slipped 
from  the  slight  harness,  and  flew  to  his  side, 
the  contrast  of  his  pale  face  and  laboiing 
breath,  to  their  free  and  joyous  respiration, 
was  indeed  a sad  one.  But  years  had  passed 
away,  and  Oliver  had  lived  to  weep  over  the 
loss  of  his  brothers,— had  lived  to  enforce  the 
immutable  tmth,  .that  God’s  ways  are  not  like 
ours, — to  prove  the  imbecility  of  human  de- 
ductions and  conjecture.  The  blooming  and 
beautiful  had  been  called,  in  the  dawn  of  life, 
and  the  invalid  still  lingered  on.  But  that 
health,  v Inch  had  been  denied  to  his  material 
structure,  seemed  doubly  bestowed  on  his 


112 


LIVING  BEYOND 


mind.  He  was  no  longer  the  feeble  object  of 
his  mother’s  solicitude.  He  was  her  friend, — 
her  counsellor.  By  degrees,  he  obtained  the 
influence  of  superior  virtue  over  every  one 
around  him,  and,  from  his  couch  of  sickness 
and  pain,  afforded  a striking  proof,  that  there 
is  no  situation  in  life,  which  may  not  show 
forth  the  goodness  and  power  of  the  Creator. 
Such  he  considered  the  purpose  of  his  pro- 
longed existence, — not  to  teach  by  active  and 
energetic  usefulness,  for,  alas ! that  was  denied 
to  him  ; — but  by  enduring  with  fortitude  and 
submission,  suffering  and  confinement ; to  en- 
deavor by  faith,  prayer  and  trust  In  God,  to 
demonstrate,  that  religion  gives  a power  suf- 
ficient to  support  and  cheer  the  soul,  and  to 
diffuse  serenity  in  hopeless  disease. 

The  expression  of  his  countenance  was 
bright,  serene,  and  even,  at  titnes,  joyous.  It  was 
only  his  emaciated  frame,  the  clear  and  un- 
earthly paleness  of  his  complexion,  that  gave 
the  idea  of  suffering.  The  parents,  instead  of 
communicating  resignation,  derived  it  from  him  ; 
and  though  his  cultivation  and  refinement  were 
of  a higher  order  than  theirs,  they  felt  its 


THE  MEANS. 


113 


secret  and  holy  influence.  Such  were  the 
friends  that  uncle  Joshua  meant  to  secure  to 
Jane  and  her  children. 

Mrs.  Watson  expressed  her  determination  to 
call  on  Jane,  as  soon  as  it  was  proper, — for 
she  was  of  the  old  school — (one  that  often 
checks  the  best  propensities  of  the  heart)  ; 
which  it  would  not  be  under  a month  or  six 
weeks.  Oliver  thought  otherwise,  ‘ Why  not 
go  to-day,  or  to-morrow  ? as  if  every  one  does 
not  feel  the  blessing  of  heartfelt  sympathy.’ 
But  Mrs.  Watson  knew  more  of  the  forms  of 
life,  and  weighed  their  different  standing, — and 
several  weeks  were  suffered  to  pass.  By  this 
delay,  she  lost  the  opportunity  of  seeing  Jane 
under  the  influence  of  a soitow,  which,  for  a 
time,  at  least,  makes  the  heart  better.  But 
Frank  had  requested  all  their  friends  to  come 
and  cheer  her  up.  And  the  trio, — Mi’s.  Heed, 
Mrs.  Hart  and  Mrs.  Bradish, — that  we  have 
before  alluded  to,  had  certainly  done  their  best, 
to  wear  away  all  the  salutary  and  wholesome 
impressions  of  death.  They  had  scarcely 
allowed  her  a moment  for  reflection, — had 
urged  the  necessity  of  riding,  walking,  and 
10=*^ 


114 


LIVING  BEYOND 


‘ keeping  up  her  spirits,’ — till  Jane  had  be- 
come again  absorbed  by  the  little  petty  cares 
of  life,  and  could  banish  painful  reflection 
without  an  effort. 

The  morning  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson 
came,  they  found  her  in  a becoming  mourning 
dress,  every  curl  and  every  fold  in  place. 
But  their  ovn  feelings  of  kindness  supplied 
the  want  of  hers,  and  aroused  something  like 
sympathy  in  her  mind.  ‘ We  must  be  friends,’ 
said  Mr.  Watson,  as  he  shook  her  hand  with 
cordiality,  ‘ or  we  shall  not  fulfil  the  last  re- 
quest of  our  excellent  friend.  ' You  must  fix 
on  an  afternoon  to  pass  with  us,  and  bring  all 
your  children.’  Jane  could  not  refuse,  and  the 
day  was  appointed;  and  as  Mrs.  Watson  left 
the  room,  she  said,  ‘ don’t  make  it  later  than 
four.’ 

‘ Impossible,’ said  Frank,  ‘go  at  four  ! What 
Goths  and  Vandals  ! You  will  expire  before 
you  can  get  away.  I will  call  and  pass  half 
an  hour  after  tea,  and  I hope  this  will  finish 
off  the  intercourse  for  a year  at  least.  By  the 
by,  Jane,  put  down  the  day  of  the  month,  and 
next  year  we  will  return  the  invitation  the  same 
dt'y.’ 


THE  MEANS. 


115 


When  the  afternoon  arrived,  a new  obstacle 
presented.  Elinor,  the  eldest  daughter,  who 
had  attained  her  sixteenth  year,  and  was  to 
come  out  the  next  winter,  had  her  engagements 
and  pursuits,  and  learnt,  with  a feeling  of  dis- 
appointment, that  a long  afternoon  was  to  be 
sperit,  in  a scene  of  domestic  dullness  and 
ennui.  The  sacrifice,  however,  was  to  be 
made  ; and,  with  a naturally  amiable  dispo- 
sition, and  much  energy  of  character,  she  de- 
termined it  should  be  made  cheerfully  ; with  a 
secret  hope,  however,  that  they  should  not  see 
the  sicli  young  man. 

The  sick  young  man  was  the  fii-st  to  re 
ceive  them, — to  welcome  them,  with  a gay 
and  cheerful  expression,  to  his  father’s  house. 
Mrs.  Watson  lost,  at  home,  all  the  constraint 
of  forms,  to  which  she  was  unused.  She  was 
kind,  maternal  and  affectionate.  The  table 
was  loaded  with  prints,  and  works  of  fancy 
and  taste.  Every  thing  was  refined,  and  in 
good  keeping  ; — and,  to  the  astonishment  of 
the  Fultons,  Oliver,  in  fashionable  phrase,  was 
‘ the  life  of  the  party.’  Instead  of  allusions 
to  his  feeble  health,  and  a list  of  his  infirmities, 


116 


LIVING  BEYOND 


wliich  the  visiters  had  anticipated,  not  a word 
was  hinted  on  the  subject.  A new  treat  was 
prepared  for  the  evening, — his  electrical  ma- 
chine, with  its  curious  experiments, — his  mag- 
ic lantern,  with  its  grave  and  gay  scenes,  its 
passing  characters,  so  true  a picture  of  human 
life.  When  the  carriage  came,  to  convey  El- 
inor to  the  cotillon  party,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  she  preferred  staying  the  evening,  and 
the  carriage  was  dismissed. 

Dr.  Fulton  did  not  come.  Business  un- 
doubtedly prevented  him.  A physician’s  time 
was  never  his  own  ; and  ‘ heartily  glad  ’ Jane 
said  she  should  be,  when  he  gave  up  his  pro- 
fession. 

The  family  returned,  delighted  with  their 
visit,  and  perfectly  convinced,  that,  though 
Oliver  looked  sick  and  emaciated,  and  his 
hands  were  so  white  and  almost  transparent 
he  could  not  suffer  much.  Mrs.  Fulton 
said  ‘ suffering  was  not  only  marked  upon  the 
countenance,  but  it  destroyed  the  force  and 
resolution  of  the  character.’  In  most  cases, 
she  was  undoubtedly  right ; but  in  the  present 
one  she  was  wrong.  Many  a night  of  anguish 


THE  MEANS. 


117 


did  poor  Oliver  endure, — earnestly  praying, 
if  it  were  the  will  of  Heaven,  that  he  might 
sleep  the  sleep  of  death,  and  wake  to  the 
morning  of  a glorious  immortality.  But  then, 
the  remembrance  of  his  parents’  anguish  came 
over  him,  and  he  prayed  for  prolonged  life, 
for  their  sakes, — and  bade  them  good  morning, 
with  a cheerful  smile. 

Sickness  and  suffering  had  nerved,  not  de- 
stroyed, the  energy  of  his  character ; and  he 
had  learnt  to  look  upon  his  frame  as  a machine, 
which  the  mind  was  to  control. 

There  are  mysterious  sympathies  in  the 
heart.  From  this  visit,  Elinor’s  impressions 
assumed  a new  form.  A beauty  she  already 
was, — and  a belle  likely  to  be  — ^but,  hence- 
forth, all  that  belonged  to  these  titles  devolved 
on  the  care  of  the  parents.  It  was  Elinor’s 
delight  to  visit  at  Mrs.  Watson’s, — to  listen  to 
the  conversation  of  Oliver,  so  blended  with 
wisdom,  instruction  and  amusement.  Of  a fu- 
ture existence, — which  she  had  hitherto  con- 
sidered as  awfully  mysterious,  and  always  ban- 
ished from  her  thoughts, — she  heard  him  speak, 
as  one  of  joyful  anticipation  ; as  separated 


118 


LIVING  BEYOND 


from  this  only  by  a slight  barrier.  Her  visits 
became  frequent ; and  notwithstanding  her 
parents  wondered  at  her  plebeian  taste,  she 
passed  days  at  Mrs,  Watson’s.  She  soon  un- 
derstood Oliver’s  character, — saw,  that  while 
his  frame  was  often  torn  by  anguish,  the  mind 
triumphed.  It  was  a glorious  lesson  for  youth  ; 
one  well  calculated  to  do  away  the  blighting 
effects  of  a life  of  vanity.  Uncle  Joshua  had 
bequeathed  to  Elinor  an  education ; not  one 
that  was  to  fit  her  for  entering  the  gay  world, 
but  one  that  was  gradually  to  prepare  her  for 
the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

At  length,  the  long  talked  of  period  arrived, 
that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Fulton  had  anticipated. 
He  relinquished  his  profession,  and  entered  into 
partnership  with  Mr.  Bradish,  as  a merchant. 
They  could  no  longer  be  considered  as  on  the 
threshold  of  fashion.  They  had  entered  the 
precincts,  and  were  proceeding  at  a rapid  pace. 
They  first  began,  by  accepting  such  invitations 
as  they  persuaded  themselves  they  were  mor- 
ally obliged  to  accept : — as  if  the  often  repeat- 
ed observation,  ‘ I feel  obliged  to  go,’  operated 
beyond  inclination. 


THE  MEANS. 


119 


Some  there  are,  veterans  of  fashion,  wlto, 
like  Solomon,  weary  of  the  constant  round  of 
life,  persuade  themselves  that  they  are  bound 
to  accept  invitations,  from  respect  to  the  feel- 
ings of  their  friends,  who  will  be  hurt  if  they 
decline  them.  How  can  they  think  so,  when 
tliey  arrive  at  the  drawing-room,  where  every 
inch  of  foot  room  is  contended  for,  and  where, 
if  shorter  than  the  average  of  the  company, 
they  must  content  themselves  with  gazing  upon 
the  ceiling  ! To  those  who  are  just  enlisting, 
there  is,  undoubtedly,  a mysterious  power  in 
fashion,  tliat  enables  them  to  make  many  sac- 
rifices for  the  honor  of  being  called  over  in  the 
muster-roll. 

The  frame  of  the  chimney-glass  was  stuck 
full  of  cards,  white,  blue  and  yellow,  and  every 
evening  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fulton  elbowing 
their  way,  among  crowded  circles.  That  all 
this  was  still  done  with  the  greatest  possible 
economy  of  money,  there  can  be  no  doubt ; 
for  Jane  had  not  yet  learned  to  throw  off  all 
the  restraints  of  early  habit.  But  if  money  is 
saved,  a far  more  precious  expenditure  is  re- 
quired. A lady  who  spends  her  morning  in 


120 


LIVING  BEYOND 


cleaning  white  kid  gloves  and  furbishing  a soil- 
ed dress,  is  drawing  upon  a treasure  that  money 
cannot  replace, — time. 

While  Elinor  was  deriving  lessons  from 
Oliver,  that  were  to  endure  beyond  ‘ time,’  to 
her  mother  was  left  the  care  of  preparing  for 
her  entree  the  coming  year.  No  member  of 
parliament,  canvassing  for  a place  as  prime 
minister,  could  have  been  keener  in  his  calcu- 
lations. Many  old  acquaintances  were  drop- 
ped, and  many  new  ones  acquired.  Every 
article  of  furniture  that  was  purchased,  had 
some  reference  to  the  future  show-out, — to  the 
ball  with  which  Elinor  was  to  be  ushered  into 
society.  To  give  it  full  effect,  she  was  care- 
fully secluded  ; and,  like  the  night-blooming 
cereus,  was  to  burst  forth  at  once.  Mrs.  Wat- 
son’s was  the  only  place  where  she  was  suffer- 
ed to  visit  freely  ; and  ‘ they  were  so  out  of 
the  world,  that  nobody  would  ever  see  her,  or 
know  it.’ 

It  was  strange,  how  Oliver  contrived  to 
mingle  so  much  of  religion,  of  high  and  holy 
tliought,  in  his  intercourse  with  all  about  him, 
without  ever  preaching,  or  even  uttering  a 


THE  MEANS. 


121 


homily.  This  reflection  occurred  to  Elinor; 
and  she  conned  it  over,  till  she  found  out  the 
puzzle.  It  was  the  language  of  action,  of  ex- 
ample, of  purpose, — fortitude  in  suffering, — 
filial  tenderness, — disinterested  benevolence, 
and  ingenuity  in  devising  aid  for  the  unfortu- 
nate. His  words  were  consistent  with  all  this  ; 
but  they  possessed  no  higher  moral  power  than 
they  derived  from  living  example. 

‘ How  good  you  are  ! ’ said  Elinor  to  him, 
when  he  was  one  day  kindly  explaining  to  her 
some  phenomena  of  scientific  experiments. 

‘ I suppose,’  said  he,  ‘ I ought  to  say,  in 
return,  how  good  you  are,  to  listen  to  me  so 
patiently  ! But  I feel  as  if  I had  almost  done 
witli  the  forms  of  the  world.’ 

‘ Almost  done  with  them  ! ’ exclaimed  Eli- 
nor. ‘ Why,  Oliver,  you  have  not  entered 
upon  them  yet, — you  are  so  young!  My 
mother  thinks  you  would  have  enjoyed  better 
health,  if  you  had  been  more  in  society,  and 
had  not  thought  and  studied  so  much.’ 

‘ Do  you  think  so,  Elinor  ? ’ 

‘ I really  cannot  tell,’  replied  she,  after  a 
moment’s  pause,  ‘ because  the  experiment  has 
11 


12^ 


LIVING  BEYOND 


never  been  made.  But  no  one  could  wish 
you  to  be  otherwise  than  you  are,  except  with 
regard  to  health.’ 

‘ What  I am, — all  that  you  approve,’  said 
Oliver,  ‘ I owe  to  my  ill  health.  It  is  Provi- 
dence that  gives  us  the  means  of  improvement.’ 

‘ Providence,  then,’  replied  Elinor,  with  a 
half  smile,  ' has  dealt  hardly  by  me ; for  I 
have  always  enjoyed  excellent  health.’ 

‘ No,  Elinor ; Providence  has  dealt  most 
graciously  with  you.  God  is  leading  your 
young  heart  to  him  by  mercies  and  blessings. 
And  who  shall  say  that  the  contrast  which 
my  situation  affords  to  yours,  is  not  one  of  the 
means  designed  to  wann  your  gratitude  into  a 
pure  and  holy  flame,  of  devotion  ? ’ 

From  conversations  and  reflections  like  these, 
Elinor  returned,  in  the  evening,  to  her  own 
now  luxurious  home.  She  usually  found  her 
mother  dressing  for  a party.  There  was  often 
hurry  and  vexation.  Sometimes  a glove  tore 
in  pulling  it  on,  or  the  carriage  did  not  come. 
When  her  mother  was  leaving  her,  she  often 
said,  ‘ Next  winter,  Elinor,  we  shall  go  togeth- 
er. I leave  you  to  the  pleasure  of  anticipa- 


THE  MEANS. 


123 


tion.’  And  then  she  hurried  away  to  a 
crowded  party. 

Mrs.  Fulton,  thanks  to  her  beauty,  reputed 
wealth,  and  circle  of  acquaintances,  had  now 
the  happiness  of  seeing  hei’self  one  of  the  fii-st 
led  into  the  supper-room  ; and,  from  the  upper 
end  of  it,  enjoyed  the  felicity  of  gazing  upon 
the  crowd,  who  were  elbowing  their  way. 
Sometimes  her  eye  rested  on  one  of  her  early 
‘ lady  patronesses,’  Mrs.  Reed,  and  some  others, 
who  pushed  on  before  the  thronging  multitude. 
She  gave  them  an  encouraging  nod,  and  even 
beckoned  them  to  get  near  her ; — a feat  that 
she  knew  was  utterly  impossible. 

One  thing  still  was  wanting,  to  place  them 
on  an  equality  with  the  Bradishes ; and  that 
was  a carriage.  Poor  Mrs.  Fulton  still  made 
her  morning  visits  in  a hack,  except  when  her 
kind  neighbor  condescendingly  offered  to  take 
her.  She  could  see  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  now  have  an  equipage  of  their  own.  It 
was  only  consistent  with  their  present  style  of 
living. 

Frank  had  wholly  ceased  his  communica- 
tions to  Jane,  with  regard  to  his  pecuniary 


124 


LIVING  BEYOND 


affiiirs.  Con<5equently,  this  mutual  source  of 
interest  was  gone  ; and,  as  she  saw  no  re- 
straints laid  on  any  thing,  she  presumed,  very 
naturally,  that,  as  long  as  his  business  was  so 
flourishing,  it  was  of  little  consequence  what 
they  expended.  Sometimes,  when  her  benev- 
olent feelings  were  interested,  and  she  gave 
lavishly  and  injudiciously,  Frank  accused  her 
of  extravagance.  Then  came  retaliation,  and 
hints  that  she  had  always  heard,  that,  with 
increase  of  means,  came  a greater  tenacity  of 
money.  For  her  own  part,  she  considered  it 
as  dross,  if  it  was  not  circulating. 

It  is  a sad  mistake,  to  believe  that  there  are 
any  abstract  virtues  or  vices.  The  former  is 
the  ascending  ladder  of  Jacob’s  vision,  whose 
foot  is  on  earth,  but  whose  top  reaches  to 
heaven.  To  suppose  that  we  may  commit  a 
solitary  vice,  is  as  inconsistent  as  it  would  be 
to  break  down  a very  small  portion  of  the 
levee,  and  yet  expect  to  restrain  the  rushing 
waters  of  the  Mississippi  to  a narrow  outlet 
and  gentle  current.  The  mighty  torrent,  that 
has  hitherto  been  hemmed  in,  can  no  longer 


THE  MEANS. 


125 


be  checked ; and  the  country  is  laid  waste  by 
inundation. 

Extravagance  seems  to  be  a slight  fault. 
In  youth,  we  are  indulgent  to  it.  We  say,  if 
there  must  be  wrong,  that  extreme  is  better 
than  the  opposite ; — we  had  rather  see  it,  than 
sordid  calculation.  But  is  this  all  ? Does  it 
stop  here?  A little  reflection  will  convince 
any  one,  that,  to  support  extravagance,  it  must 
biing  a host  of  allies.  There  must  be  injustice, 
—selfishness  ; and  the  last  auxiliary  is  fraud. 
Extravagance  is,  in  truth,  living  beyond  our 
honest  means.  It  is  a word  used  so  lightly, 
that  we  almost  forget  its  import. 

During  the  months  that  followed  uncle 
Joshua’s  death,  to  the  era  of  Elinor’s  coming 
out,  nothing  could  be  less  preparatory  for  such 
an  event,  than  her  state  of  mind.  But,  as  she 
was  perfectly  obedient  to  her  mother’s  wishes, 
■ — carefiil  not  to  use  too  violent  exercise,  or  to 
expose  herself,  imprudently,  to  heat  or  cold, 
and  not  to  associate  with  her  former  school- 
mates, who  did  not  belong  to  the  haut-ton, — 
Mrs.  Fulton  was  satisfied,  and  fully  believed 
that  he"  daughter  comprehended  and  subscrib- 
11  ^ 


126 


LIVING  BEYOND 


ed  to  her  motives  ; — that  she  understood  the 
first  part  of  her  lessons  were  given,  as  a cos- 
metic for  the  complexion,  and  the  last,  as  a 
security  for  rank.  Elinor  obeyed  them,  with 
the  full  assurance,  that  they  were  meant  for 
her  good.  For  what  child  can  doubt  the 
aft’ection  of  a mother  ? It  is  a redeeming 
point  in  this  connection,  formed  by  God’s  own 
hand,  that  however  blind  or  ill-judged  in  its 
direction,  and  however  bitter  the  waters  may 
become  in  their  course,  the  fount,  from  which 
they  rise,  is  pure  and  uncorrupted.  Let  us 
not  confound  terms,  and  talk  of  the  affection 
of  parents,  as  we  talk  of  their  foolish  indul- 
gence, their  inordinate  pride  in  their  children, 
and  their  restless  ambition.  These  are  world- 
lings, and  have  no  affinity  with  true  parental 
affection.  If  we  analyze  them,  selfishness  is 
at  the  bottom.  As  well  might  we  say  that 
religion  is  fanaticism, — is  persecution, — is  un- 
hallowed zeal, — ^liecause  the  rivers,  that  flow 
from  the  source,  sometimes  grow  muddy  and 
turbid  as  they  rush  on.  Yet,  even  the  infidel 
pretends  not  to  relinquish  his  claims  to  the 


THE  MEANS. 


12T 


fountain  ; for  he  tells  us,  his  is  the  religion  of 
nature. 

‘IMy  dear  Elinor,’  said  Mrs.  Fulton,  as 
they  both  set  at  work  in  the  morning,  ‘ your 
father  and  I have  fixed  upon  the  first  evening 
in  November  for  the  ball.  It  is  now  the  sec- 
ond week  in  October ; and  we  shall  not  have 
much  more  than  time  to  get  ready.  We  must 
make  out  a list.  Take  your  pen,  and  we  will 
begin.’ 

Elinor  did  as  her  mother  directed. 

* The  right  way,’  said  Mrs.  F ulton,  ‘ is  to 
arrange  the  names  alphabetically.’ 

It  was  soon  found,  however,  that  this  was 
impossible.  A string  of  Ps  or  Qs,  &c.,  ob- 
truded. Then  Mrs.  Fulton  said,  ‘ Streets 
were  the  best  way  to  begin  with.  R Street  ; 
then  go  to  C or  E Street,  and  so  on.’  But 
here  numbers  were  forgotten.  And,  at  last, 
she  thought  of  the  directory. 

Elinor  continued  writing  the  list  in  silence, 
with  her  head  bent  over  the  paper. 

‘ The  next  thing  will  be  to  fix  upon  waiters 
and  entertainments.  We  are  to  have  the  use 
of  Mrs.  Bradish’s  two  rooms,  just  as  she  had 


128 


LIVING  BEYOND 


ours,  last  winter.  But  how  moping  you  are, 
Elinor ! I really  think,  as  we  are  taking  all 
this  trouble  for  you,  you  might  show  a little 
interest  in  it.’ 

Elinor  attempted  to  answer ; but  her  emo- 
tions seemed  to  be  irrepressible ; and  she  laid 
down  her  pen,  and  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes. 

‘ You  are  not  well,  dear,’  said  her  mother, 
tenderly. 

‘Yes,  I am,’  said  Elinor.  ‘But,  mother, 
do  you  know  how  sick  Oliver  is  ? ’ 

‘ I know  he  has  been  sick  for  a great  many 
years  ; I believe,  ever  since  he  was  born.’ 

‘ But  he  is  much  more  so  now.  The  doc- 
tor says  he  cannot  live  long.’ 

‘ It  will  be  a mercy,  when  he  is  taken,’  said 
Mrs.  Fulton. 

‘ He  is  every  thing  to  his  mother,’  said  Eli- 
nor, in  a faltering  voice. 

‘ Yes  ; his  father  and  mother  will  feel  it  at 
first,  no  doubt.  Have  you  put  down  the  Wil- 
kinses on  the  list  ? ’ 

‘ Mother,’  said  Elinor,  solemnly,  ‘ perhaps 


THE  MEANS. 


129 


Oliver  may  die  the  very  evening  you  have 
fixed  on  for  the  ball.’ 

‘ Well,  if  he  should,  it  would  be  unlucky. 
But  we  cannot  help  it,  you  know.’ 

‘ They  were  such  friends  of  uncle  Joshua’s ! ’ 
said  Elinor. 

‘ They  are  so  out  of  the  world,  they  will 
never  know  it.’ 

‘ But  we.  should,  mother.’ 

‘ There  is  nothing  so  unwise  as  to  torment 
oui-selves  about  possibilities.  I am  sure,  things 
covhl  not  happen  so  unlucky.’ 

Jane  was  right  in  one  point,  at  least.  There 
is  nothing  so  unwise  as  to  trouble  ourselves 
about  possibilities.  We  may  lay  a thousand 
plans,  waste  time  in  revolving  consequent 
events,  even  go  on  to  imaginary  convei’sations, 
and,  after  all,  the  occasion  for  them  never 
occurs,  and  our  plans  are  swept  away,  like 
chaff  before  the  wind. 

Elinor  made  out  the  list.  The  cards  were 
written  and  sent ; and  the  day  before  the  ball 
arrived. 

The  young,  and  those  who  remember  the 
days  of  their  youth,  will  not  be  severe  on  Eli- 


130 


LIVING  BEYOND 


nor,  that  her  thoughts  took  a brighter  hue,  as 
she  busied  herself  in  the  splendid  preparations  ; 
or  that,  when  her  ball-dress  came  home,  her 
eye  sparkled  with  pleasure,  as  she  gazed  on  it. 
Winters  of  sorrow  and  time  must  pass  over  the 
young  head,  before  its  germs  of  anticipation, 
of  hope,  and  of  self-complacency,  can  be 
blighted. 

‘ It  is  a beautiful  dress,’  said  Mrs.  F ul- 
ton.  ‘ I will  just  run  down  and  see  if  your 
father  has  come.  He  was  to  bring  your  ear- 
rings.’ 

Down  Mrs.  Fulton  ran. 

As  she  approached  his  room,  which  was  on 
the  basement  story,  she  heard  loud  voices. 
She  stopped  at  the  door;  and,  at  that  mo- 
ment, her  husband  said,  in  a deprecating 
voice,  ‘ I assure  you,  this  is  only  a trifling 
embarrassment.  Wait  a few  days,  and  every 
thing  will  go  right.’ 

‘ I know  better,’  was  the  ungracious  reply  ; 
‘ and  I will  wait  no  longer.’ 

Jane  turned  away,  with  a feeling  of  appre- 
hension. Something  of  undefined  evil  took 
possession  of  her  mind ; and,  instead  of  re- 


THK  MEANS. 


131 


turning  to  Elinor,  she  impatiently  waited,  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  till  the  men  were  gone. 
When  the  door  closed  upon  them,  she  again 
sought  her  husband.  He  was  flushed  and 
agitated. 

‘ What  do  you  want  ? ’ said  he,  roughly,  as 
she  entered. 

‘ I came  to  see  if  you  had  got  Elinor’s  ear- 
rings.’ 

‘ Do  n’t  torment  me  about  such  nonsense,’ 
replied  he.  ‘You  woriy  my  life  out.’ 

Jane  had  caught  his  retaliating  spirit. 

‘ Something  worries  you,  it  is  evident.  Who 
were  those  men  that  have  just  gone  ? ’ 

‘ That  is  my  affair,’  said  he. 

She  was  silent  for  a moment ; and  then 
affectionately  exclaimed,  ‘My  dear  Frank, 
how  can  you  say  so  ? Are  not  your  affairs 
and  mine  the  same  ? If  any  thing  makes  you 
unhanpy;  ought  I not  to  know  it  ? ’ 

How  true  it  is,  that  ‘ a soft  answer  turneth 
away  wrath  ! ’ He  evidently  felt  the  forbear- 
ance of  his  wife  ; and  replied,  more  gently, 
‘ Indeed,  Jane,  if  I had  any  thing  pleasant  to 
tell  vou  I should  be  glad  to  tell  it.  But  the 


132 


LIVING  BEYOND 


truth  is,  it  is  from  kindness  to  you,  that  I do 
not  speak.’ 

‘ Then  there  is  something  unpleasant  to  be 
communicated  ? ’ 

‘ Yes ; but  wait  till  this  cursed  ball  is  over, 
and  then  I will  tell  you  all.  Here,’  said  he, 
taking  a little  box  from  his  pocket,  ‘ carry 

these  to  Elinor,  and  tell  her No  ; tell 

her  nothing.’ 

‘Indeed,  Frank,  it  is  cruel  in  you,  to  leave 
me  in  this  state  of  suspense.  Tell  me  the 
worst.’ 

‘ We  are  ruined ! Now,  Jane,  go  and  finish 
your  preparations  for  the  ball.  You  would 
know  all,  and  you  have  got  it.’ 

What  a day  was  this  for  poor  Jane  ! Ear- 
nestly she  entreated  that  the  ball  might  be 
given  up.  But  Frank  said,  if  any  thing  could 
increase  their  misery,  it  would  be  making  it 
so  public.  And,  after  seas  of  tears,  on  the 
part  of  Jane,  it  was  finally  settled  that  every 
thing  should  proceed  the  same.  Yet,  with  the 
selfishness  of  sorrow,  how  often  she  wished 
that  something  might  take  place  to  prevent  the 
ball ! — something  that  did  not  bring  exposure, 


THE  ‘MEANS. 


133 


— ^that  would  not  affect  the  health  of  her  own 
family  ! That  somethmg  was  Oliver’s  death  ; 
— the  very  circumstance  that  She  had,  a few 
days  before,  so  much  di’eaded.  In  the  morn- 
ing, she  sent  to  know  how  he  was ; and  the 
answer,  while  it  gave  exhilaration  to  Elinor’s 
spirits,  brought  disappointment  to  her  mother. 
‘ He  had  a very  comfortable  night,  and  was 
greatly  relieved.’ 

Amidst  the  preparations  for  the  evening, 
Mrs.  Fulton’s  depression  was  not  observed. 
The  only  hope  that  remained  to  Frank,  was, 
that  his  affairs  might  be  arranged  with  some 
degree  of  secrecy.  And,  for  this,  the  ball,  he 
conceived,  was  actually  necessary. 

When  the  evening  arrived,  and  Elinor 
came  to  show  herself,  all  equipped  for  her  first 
appearance,  any  mother  might  have  been 
proud  of  such  a daughter,  with  her  bright, 
happy  face,  her  sunny,  blue  eyes,  and  a figure 
set  off  by  her  white  satin  bodice,  and  splendid 
necklace  and  ear-rings, — the  last  present  of 
her  father 

‘ Does  she  not  look  like  a queen,  ma’am  ? ’ 

12 


134 


LIVING  BEYOND 


said  the  chamber-maid,  following  her,  and 
holding  the  light  high  above  her  head. 

Mrs.  Fulton  cast  upon  her  a look  of  an- 
guish. 

The  company  came.  Every  body  con- 
gratulated Jane  on  the  beauty  and  elegance 
of  her  daughter.  Every  body  prophesied  she 
would  be  the  belle  of  the  winter.  Then  came 
the  supper.  And,  at  last,  the  visiters  depart- 
ed. Elinor  retired  to  bed,  lull  of  happy 
dreams  ; and  her  parents  were  left  alone. 

Jane  attempted  to  converse  with  her  hus- 
band. But  he  had  done  the  honors  of  the 
whisky  punch  and  champagne,  till  he  had 
not  a clear  idea  left.  And  broken  slumbers 
and  sad  thoughts  followed  her  through  the 
night. 

The  next  morning  came,  with  bitter  con- 
sciousness of  what  was  before  them.  Frank 
had  not  the  consolation  of  feeling  that  misfor- 
tune had  reduced  him.  He  had  not  lost  any 
large  amount,  by  the  sudden  changes  to  which 
mercantile  speculations  are  subject.  He  had 
been  living  in  reckless  extravagance,  and  had 


THE  MEANS. 


135 


withdrawn  large  sums  from  the  firm,  trusting 
to  the  fiiture  to  replace  them.  With  failure, 
he  knew  must  come  disgrace. 

In  a few  days,  the  tale  went  round,  and 
enlivened  many  an  evening  circle  and  morn- 
ing gossip.  The  sagacity  of  the  world  was 
truly  astonishing.  It  was  incredible,  how 
many  ‘ had  expected  some  such  crash.  There 
was  nothing  so  foolish  as  people’s  living 
beyond  their  means.’  And  Mrs.  Hart  was 
particularly  loud  in  condemning  Mrs.  Fulton’s 
extravagance. 

Among  all  their  former  friends,  a few  ap- 
peared to  sympathize ; but  none  to  take  the 
responsibility  of  counselling.  Yet  such  a one 
Heaven  provided  for  them.  And  this  was 
Samuel  Watson, — uncle  Joshua’s  ‘ vulgar 
friend.’ 

It  was  necessary  that  Frank  should  disap- 
pear from  the  scene  of  action ; and  Mr. 
Watson  was  indefatigable,  in  seeing  that  every 
thing  was  transacted  in  the  best  possible  man- 
ner, and  in  shielding  Frank’s  conduct  from 
reproach,  as  far  as  was  compatible  with  truth. 


136 


LIVING  BEYOND 


His  house  was  an  asylum  for  Mrs.  Fulton  and 
her  children,  till  something  more  eligible  could 
be  thought  of. 

Among  the  early  friends  of  her  uncle, 
Jane’s  former  impressions  revived.  She  re- 
membered his  kind  and  judicious  counsel,  and 
wondered  that  she  could  so  far  have  strayed 
from  it.  She  spoke  with  perfect  candor  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson,  and,  in  return,  received 
counsel  and  consolation. 

‘Often,’  said  Mrs.  Watson,  ‘ your  uncle  has 
expressed  his  fears  to  us,  that  you  were  living 
too  fast.  But  when  he  saw  you  still  charita- 
ble, and  striving  to  do  good,  he  said,  “ They 
cannot  wander  far  from  the  right  path.”  And 
he  was  always  fearful  of  alienating  your  affec- 
tion by  reproof.’ 

‘ It  is  true,’  said  Jane,  ‘ I could  not  bear  his 
reproofs.  And  yet  I knew  he  must  and  did 
disapprove.  If  I had  had  resolution  to  meet  it 
all,  how  much  better  would  it  have  been  for 
me  ! ’ 

Mrs.  Watson  smiled. 

‘ We  find  saving  clauses,  generally,  in  such 


THE  MEANS. 


137 


cases.  It  was  natural  for  you  to  believe  that 
your  uncle  had  no  opportunities  of  knowing 
what  people  required  in  the  fashionable  world, 
to  appear  respectable.’ 

‘ It  is  a comfort,  however,’  said  Jane,  ‘ that 
we  have  injured  nobody  but  ourselves. 

‘ I do  n’t  see  how  that  can  be,’  said  Mrs. 
Watson. 

‘ Our  creditors  are  rich  men,  who  will  not 
feel  it  in  reality.  And  as  to  our  other  debts, 
they  are  very  trifling.’ 

‘ I am  glad  to  hear  you  say  you  owe  only 
those  who  will  not  feel  it.  Of  course,  there 
are  no  butchers’  or  bakers’  bills  unpaid  ; — no 
carpenters,  masons,  or  tradesmen  of  any  kind  ; 
— no  mantua-makers  or  milliners  ; — no  women 
who  go  out  to  daily  labor,  and  who  have 
families  of  children  depending  upon  them  for 
bread.’ 

‘Upon  my  word,’  said  Jane,  ‘you  are  one 
of  Job’s  comforters.  Uncle  Joshua  himself 
could  hardly  be  more  severe.’ 

‘ My  dear  Mrs.  Fulton,  do  n’t  misunder- 
stand me.  Is  it  not  right,  that  we  should 
12* 


LIVING  BEYOND 


t'.  ■ 

speak  the  truth  to  tk^e  whom  we  wish  to 
serve  ? ’ 

‘ Certainly,’  said  Jane.  ‘ But  you  must 
allow  that  we  are  the  greatest  sufferers.’ 

‘ I can  hardly  allow  that  ; inasmuch  as  I 
consider  moral  evil  of  far  greater  magnitude 
than  temporal.  You  have  added  the  weight 
of  your  conduct  and  example  to  the  growing 
extravagance  of  the  age.’ 

‘ I can  say,  with  truth,  my  prevailing  mo- 
tive has  been  to  benefit  my  children  ; — to  give 
them  such  advantages  as  would  introduce 
them  to  the  fii’st  society. 

‘ The  best  gift  we  can  bestow  upon  our 
children,’  said  ]\Irs.  Watson,  ‘is  independence; 
and  this  is  in  every  one’s  power.  We  must 
teach  them  to  limit  themselves  to  their  own 
resources.’ 

‘ Suppose  they  have  nothing  ? ’ 

‘ If  they  have  health,  activity,  and  moderate 
talents,  they  have  an  abundance  for  indepen- 
dence. What  standing  can  be  more  respect- 
able, than  that  man’s,  who  lives  within  his 
own  means  ; owing  no  one,  wronging  no  one. 


T H-E  MEANS. 


139 


and  sharing  his  little  with  those  who  have 
less  ? ’ 

‘ Alas  ! ’ said  Jane,  ‘ that  was  once  our 
situation.’ 

‘ And  may  be  again  in  a degree,’  said  Mrs. 
Watson.  'And  this  is  the  point  to  which  I 
would  come.’ 

‘ No,’  replied  Jane  ; ' I see  the  difference. 
We  had,  then,  youth  and  fivigal  habits.  We 
were  free  from  debt,  and  had  not  a family  of 
children,  brought  up  in  indulgence.’ 

While  Mrs.  Watson  was  endeavoring  to 
rouse  the  dormant  powers  of  Jane’s  mind, 
Mr.  Watson  was  acting  as  friendly  a part  by 
her  husband,  and  a much  more  difficult 
one. 

Most  people  feel  but  little  commiseration 
for  that  remorse  which  first  owes  its  birth  to 
open  exposure.  The  common  observation  is, 
that  they  feel  the  shame,  but  not  the  sin. 
However  true  this  may  be,  we  must  also 
recollect,  that  remorse  is  not  made  up  of  pure 
and  noble  sentiments.  It  is  a mixture  of 
shame,  disappointment,  and  a conviction  of 


140 


LIVING  BEVOND 


self-folly.  We  must  not  confound  it  with 
penitence.  But  we  must  welcome  it,  let  it 
spring  from  what  it  will,  as  the  first  regener- 
ating power  of  the  mind. 

It  was  thus  that  Mr.  Watson  regarded  the 
state  of  Frank’s  mind.  And  he  did  not  con- 
vert it  to  hardened  indifference  by  bitter  sar- 
casm, nor  strive  to  lighten  it,  by  talking  of 
error,  mistake,  or  misfortune.  He  gave  things 
their  just  names. 

Uncle  Joshua’s  legacy  was  a blessed  re- 
source for  Mrs.  Fulton  and  her  children.  His 
bouse  was  a home  for  them  ; and  to  take 
possession  of  it,  was  retiring  as  completely 
from  the  circle  in  which  she  had  moved,  as  if 
she  had  followed  her  husband  to  the  western 
country,  where  he  went  to  begin  life  anew  ; 
and  once  more  put  up  his  sign, — ‘ Dr.  Fulton, 
practises  gratis.’ 

Elinor  was  at  an  age  to  feel  the  change, 
that  had  taken  place,  with  poignancy.  But 
she  was  also  at  an  age  when  the  mind  opens 
to  new  impressions,  and  when  virtuous  princi- 
ples are  easily  stamped  upon  it.  Her  inter- 


THE  MEANS. 


141 


course  with  the  Watson  family,  had  been  a 
real  blessing.  This  was  still  left  to  her  ; and 
she  soon  found,  in  constant  employment  and 
the  necessary  labor  of  her  own  industry,  a 
tranquillity  that  was  new  to  her. 

Poor  Jane ! Her  task  was  the  hardest. 
She  had  much  to  unlearn ; — habits  of  self-in- 
dulgence,— feelings  of  mortification,  of  pride, 
and  even  of  envy,  to  straggle  against. 

It  seemed  as  if  Oliver’s  life  had  been  pro- 
longed, to  this  time,  to  complete  the  religious 
education  of  Elinor  and  her  sisters.  They, 
every  evening,  seated  themselves  near  his  sick 
couch,  and  listened  to  his  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated conversation.  Often  he  talked  and 
reasoned  of  things  to  come,  and  no  cloud 
came  over  his  or  their  brow.  It  was  a beauti- 
ful sight,  to  contemplate  the  earthly  spirit 
gradually  ‘ fading  into  life.’  And  when  noth- 
ing remained,  but  the  form  it  once  inhabited, 
they  felt  that  he  had  gone  to  his  God  and  his 
F ather. 

Jane  is  still  the  head  of  the  family ; but 
Elinor  is  its  life  and  soul.  What  her  mother 


142 


LIVING  BEYOND 


was,  at  her  age,  she  now  is  ; — charitable  and 
self-denying.  But  the  virtues  of  the  one 
sprang  from  the  lovely  and  gentle  emotions  of 
her  nature,  which,  in  beneficence  and  kind- 
ness, sought  their  own  relief  and  gratification. 
In  the  other,  they  are  strengthened  and  sup- 
ported by  the  immutable  principles  of  account- 
ability to  God,  of  faith  in  a future  life,  and  of 
love  to  souls,  bom  to  immortality. 

The  accounts  they  receive  from  Dr.  Ful- 
ton, and  of  him,  are,  upon  the  whole,  encour- 
aging. Though  Mrs.  F ulton  is  earnest  to  join 
him,  with  her  family,  he  has  been  wise  enough 
to  decline  it.  The  last  letter  he  wrote  Elinor, 
she  received  a few  days  since,  and  still  carries 
in  her  bosom,  probably  on  account  of  the  fol- 
lowing sentence  : 

‘ I begin  to  hope  we  may  all  again  be 
gathered  into  one  family,  even  in  this  world. 
My  business  is  prosperous ; and  I have  rea- 
sonable expectations  of  being  able,  in  the 
course  of  a few  years,  to  convince  my  credit- 
ors, that,  however  wide  I have  travelled  fi’om 
the  right  course,  it  is  not  irrecoverable.  I 


THE  MEANS. 


143 


willingly  submit  to  every  privation,  in  this 
blessed  hope.  In  the  mean  time,  I daily 
thank  God  for  my  domestic  relations ; — that 
he  has  preserved  to  me  my  wife  and  children, 
— has  given  me  such  a child  as  you  have 
proved  yourself ; and  taught  us  all,  that  real 
independence  consists  in  living  within  out 
means' 


,■ 


‘ J 3^::  - ’ 


• 

1, 


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Duke  University  Libraries 


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